


A New Dawn Guard

by N3kkra



Series: Fallout/Skyrim Crossover [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Danse is a Dad, Double Penetration, Double Penetration in Two Holes, Dragons are scary ass motherfucking deathclaws!, Enchanted Power Armor, Established Relationship, F/M, Fallout Characters in Skyrim, Fluff and Smut, Lots of killing, M/M, Magic, Never seen such green grass, Or clear water, Or non-mutated animals, Other, Pack Bonding, Pack Feels, Polyamory, Post-Blind Betrayal, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Reagan and Danse are totally nords, Shameless Smut, Silly Mortals! Happy Endings are for Daedra!, Smut, Spitroasting, Threesome - F/M/M, Vilkas is also a dad!, baby!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2018-10-12 09:33:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 111,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10487694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N3kkra/pseuds/N3kkra
Summary: Two Brotherhood soldiers find themselves in the plains of Skyrim. Never before have they seen grass so green, animals so pure, water so clean, or a land so confusing. With the Dragonborn’s housecarl as their only friend, Danse and Reagan have to find a way to make a new life in this strange land.But with the disappearance of the Dragonborn, threats are starting to spring up all over the free kingdom of Skyrim, and they have set their sights on the outsiders from another world.Ad victoriam....





	1. The New Adventure (of Winnie the Pooh)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Armywoman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Armywoman/gifts).



> Sequel to Fall Out of Skyrim. It picks up with Reagan and Danse being teleported with Argis to Skyrim using the teleportation crystal given to Skaddi by Sheogorath.  
> Now, you probably don't HAVE to read the first one, but it would only help.  
> And sorry for those Arthur|Skaddi fans, they don't make much of an appearance in this fic...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reagan is tasked to hunt down Paladin Danse because he is a synth. Does not go down how she planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~The New Adventure of Winnie the Pooh theme

**Reagan**

            The vertibird landed on top of the Cambridge Police Station. Rain was soaking everything and Reagan was just happy she had her power armor on to keep her dry. She hated when her flight suit would get wet. Though it seemed like she was even easier to irritate right now, because just the sound of the rain on her helmet annoyed her.

            As she dropped down from the ‘bird and started for the door that would lead her down into the Station, she took a deep breath to steady herself. She knew exactly why she was so sensitive, and right now was not the time to let it take over.

            The Knight wrenched the door open and stomped inside, her power armor nearly cracking the concrete steps. It was always awkward to walk on stairs in these suits, the steps weren’t wide even for the whole boot of the armor, and if you weren’t careful or used to driving, you could end up falling face first down the steps and be the ass end of a joke for the rest of your career. She had seen it happen more than once.

            “Knight, we weren’t expecting you,” the paladin on duty greeted her and she nodded her head.

            “I have been given direct orders from Elder Maxson to question Knight Rhys and Scribe Haylen on the probable whereabouts of Paladin Danse.”

            “Ah, yes,” he frowned and ran a hand over his shaved head. “I heard about that.”

            “Yes, now, if you would point me to them?”

            “Of course, right this way, Knight.”

            “Thank you, sir.”

            She plodded behind him and he guided her to the front room of the Police Station. Haylen was finishing a conversation with another scribe, and gave the paladin and Reagan a single glance before dismissing the other woman. She didn’t recognize the armor until Reagan stepped forward, around the senior officer, and started to step out.

            “Knight Knight, I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” she said politely with a smile. They were friends, sort of. More like, Reagan Knight was friends with Merrin Debrie who was friends with Elizabeth Haylen. But their history was strained because you’re not supposed to sleep with your friend’s crush, even when that friend’s crush isn’t interested… _at all_.

            “I’ve come to ask you some questions on the whereabouts of Paladin Danse.”

            She stiffened and looked sideways at the paladin behind Reagan before turning her eyes back over to the woman. “Because of this crap about him being a synth?”

            Bold. She was always a little _too_ outspoken for Reagan’s taste. At least the Knight knew when and how to speak out of turn, but Haylen had always been ‘too good’ and often questioned her place in the Brotherhood. That was something that had always pissed Reagan off. “Watch it, _Scribe_ ,” she growled, pulling rank before the paladin behind her could.

            “I don’t know anything.”

            “Sir, will you give us a moment?” Reagan asked over her shoulder at the man who nodded and took his leave. With a sigh, she removed her hood and tried to relax. But when she turned her honey eyes back on Haylen they were hard like amber rocks. “Tell me where he is, Haylen. Now.”

            “So you can kill him? No. I’m not telling you anything,” she sneered and Reagan felt her hands ball up. She started it by dropping the formalities, so she wasn’t going to pull rank again, but she couldn’t exactly threaten the other woman without it coming back to bite her in the ass.

            “I’m not going to kill him,” she growled and Haylen shook her head.

            “You’re just like the rest of them, you hear _synth_ and you shoot first before asking questions. I’m not going to help you kill him. He would never do anything to hurt us.”

            The Knight bit her upper lip in frustration and pressed her fingers into her forehead before grabbing the bridge of her nose. “I swear to _God,_ Haylen, I’m not above having you thrown in the brig for obstruction of justice.”

            “My point exactly.”

            “Reagan?”

            The Knight turned around as the Scribe stiffened. “Rhys,” she sighed and smiled a little as the other Knight came forward and looked her over.

            “You look like shit, what’s wrong?” he frowned and Reagan turned her back to the other woman.

            “You haven’t heard about Danse?”

            “Oh,” his nose wrinkled the scar that she’d given him so many years ago. “Sorry about that.”

            “Nothing we could have done, he’s been one this whole time. Do you know where he could have gone? He’s AWOL.”

            Rhys’s dark eyes flicked passed her to Haylen who was probably shaking her head and mouthing ‘no’ repeatedly, but it wouldn’t work. Rhys and Knight were closer than she had ever been with anyone else until she and Danse confessed their feelings for each other in the sickbay on the Prydwen. She had to thank the Dragonborn again if she saw her. She wouldn’t have had the nerve to say anything if it wasn’t for her.

            The other Knight sighed, “The only place I can think of is Listening Post Bravo. It’s an old bunker with a landing pad out front.” He folded his huge arms across his barrel chest. “It’s in the north, east of here, straight shot once you get out of Cambridge, about a seven hour power armor walk with no obstructions. He had Haylen find a fallback point that would be easily defensible if we lost the Police Station. I can’t think of another place he’d go.”

            “Thank you, Logan,” she reached out and touched his arm and he placed his massive hand over it.

            “You okay, Ray?”

            “I’ll be fine once I find him.”

            “You’re not going to kill him are you?”

            “This is goodbye, Logan,” she leaned in and kissed his cheek. He sighed and held her face, kissing hers back and then pressed his forehead to hers so she had to look into his dark eyes.

            “Take care of yourselves.”

            “We will. You do the same.”

            “Yeah… you know me, the definition of careful,” he smirked and she shook her head, stepping back from him with a heavy sigh. She would miss him. But at least she got to say goodbye to him. Then she looked over her shoulder and shot a glare at the scribe who was folding her arms and tapping her foot, her gaze locked on a part of the pealing paint on the wall.

            “Scribe.”

            “Knight.”

            Reagan pulled her hood back on and stepped around Rhys to get to her power armor. When she was inside he frowned up at her.

            “You’re sure about this? Danse is a synth, Reagan,” his nose scrunched some, but it wasn’t near the same level of disdain that the others suffered from.

            “He’s still Danse,” she said simply and then turned away from him, marching for the door toward Listening Post Bravo.

 

 

            The elevator ride was almost too fast.

            She was very near hyperventilating, and wasn’t sure she was ready for this confrontation. What was the likelihood Danse wouldn’t just shoot her on sight? He was scared, and he was suffering from one of the worst identity crises that a Brotherhood of Steel soldier could. Hell, she had almost been turned into a ghoul from too much radiation and that was nowhere near this stressful.

            Reagan took a deep breath as the elevator stopped and the door opened with a pleasant chime. She kept her weapon on her thigh and stepped out, expecting a lot of things. But… not an empty room.

            She narrowed her eyes and looked around. Someone was staying here. There was a dusted off weapons workbench beside an armor bench, and the fire was going. She stomped forward and turned her head this way any that.

            A suit of T-60 BOS power armor stood facing a wall in front of some holes and she approached it cautiously. Then she stepped up beside the other suit and ejected herself so that she was only dressed in her flight suit. “Danse?” she called out and grabbed her laser rifle off of the suit’s thigh.

            “Knight?”

            His voice came through the holes in the wall and she peeked through, before looking around and finding a way around into the next room. When she stepped inside, she came face to face with the Paladin and her heart fell to her feet.

            He looked as horrible as she felt. His creamy brown eyes were strained and red-rimmed, and his face was dirty, giving him more age than he could claim. His black hair was flat from wearing a hood, but he had been running his hands through it a lot and now it just looked horrible. Dirty and greasy and Christ, the state of his beard…

            “Maxson sent you to–”

            Reagan put her laser rifle down and threw her arms around him, cutting him off as she pressed against him hard and began to cry. “You didn’t know, did you?”

            “No,” he cleared his throat and slowly his arms came to rest on her waist, then slide around her, holding her tightly, as if he needed her for stability –maybe he did.

            “We have to get you out of here,” she whispered, but didn’t move.

            “Reagan, you have to kill me,” he started and she shook her head.

            “No, I can’t, I won’t.”

            “I’m a synth,” he protested and pulled back to look at her. She was already shaking her head.

            “I don’t care, Sebastian, I’m not letting you go,” she held his hands. “You left me in the Capital when you came on your recon mission. I’m not letting you go again.”

            “I have to be the example, not the exception. I am the physical embodiment of everything we hate, Reagan…”

            “I refuse to believe that, Sebastian. You’ve been a synth this whole time, and what have you done against the Brotherhood? Tell me. Anything?” she lifted a brow at him and he frowned.

            “I…”

            “You’ve never done anything to harm our family,” she cupped his jaw, looking into those creamy brown eyes, watching them shift and darken.

            He gave a frustrated growl and looked away from her, “I’m a synth, Reagan…”

            She tightened her grip on his hands. “I don’t give two shits, you’re my Sebastian,” she grabbed his jaw and made him look at her. “I love you.”

            “How can you love… a machine?”

            She swallowed, she should tell him now. Now was a good time to tell him he was a father. That she was pregnant with his child. That he was human enough to make life with her. But she needed him to want to live for himself, not for her or their baby. He needed to understand that he wasn’t any less of himself now than he was last week when he held her and made sweet love to her in his quarters.

            He hadn’t had a worry in the world as he loved her, listening to each little pointer she had for his inexperience. Danse was a fast learner, it was why he was one of their best paladins. Now he was questioning everything about himself.

            “I love you, Sebastian. You’re more human that most of the shit that lives up there,” she pointed at the ceiling. “I’m not killing you because there’s no reason to.”

            “What if the Institute gets ahold of me?”

            “Then I’ll blow them to hell myself, and find a way to bring you back.”

            He actually smiled a little at that. The Paladin removed his hands from hers and rested them on her shoulders, “I love you, Reagan.”

            Her heart stopped beating at that. It was the first time he’d said those words to her since they’d kissed in the sickbay. She had told him several times, and he told her she meant everything to him, but he’d never said those words, and it had hurt her. _Now_ she felt everything come together and her heart swell. She had needed to hear it more than she realized.

            “Then it’s settled, we’ll get our supplies together and find a place to live. We can leave the Commonwealth or hunker down in a little settlement somewhere…”

            He hesitated, but her confidence went unshaken. It seemed to give him strength, to hold her, and see her so sure of what was going to happen, that they were going to be okay. That they would make it through this. Together.

            And then the elevator groaned as it was called up to the surface.

            “Shit…” she breathed and looked back. There was no way that Rhys had ratted them out, and no one else knew but Haylen…. “Oh, I swear to _God_ if that little bitch–” Reagan started and grabbed her laser rifle as Danse snagged his off of a chest and they both went around into the receiving room to see who was coming.

            The bell rung and the Dragonborn of Skyrim, Skaddi Ice-Hunter, and her nord housecarl, Argis the Bulwark, stepped out to be greeted with the hum of Reagan and Danse’s laser rifles. Her brows and hands shot up and she stared at both of her ex-guards as they gave her quizzical looks in exchange.

            “Don’t shoot?” she lifted a brow. Danse and Reagan mirrored each other as they lowered their weapons, a practiced motion that they had built over the years.

            “Maxson send you to finish this?” Reagan growled, knowing that the Elder hadn’t trusted her with this task, she had simply wished it would have taken him longer to send Skaddi after them. “He knew I wouldn’t do it.”

            The Dragonborn shook her head. “I’m here to help you.”

            Danse’s brows frowned and he shifted his gun in his hands, while Reagan narrowed her eyes. “What does Maxson think of this?”

            “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have his approval,” she stated and Reagan looked sideways at Danse. It was true, the Dragonborn was loyal to the Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel as more than just a lover. She had pledged herself to him as an ally before they’d become romantically involved, and if there was one thing that Reagan had learned about the woman standing in front of her, it was that she would never turn her back willingly on an ally.

            “Arthur is… letting Danse live?” Reagan clarified, receiving a nod from the Dragonborn.

            “He’s letting me offer you a chance,” the nord woman opened her bag and pulled out a purple stone with jagged edges and a faint blackish mist swimming within it. “You can live in Skyrim, away from the threat of the Institute, away from the threat of losing control over yourself.”

            Reagan’s lips parted and she dropped her gun –a nasty habit she had when she was shocked enough. Danse’s own weapon very nearly fell as well but he held onto it, then he shook his head. “That is your only way home, Skaddi.” It had been given to her by the Daedric Prince Sheogorath as a means to return her to Skyrim. Something she’d been trying to do for most of her time here, but now she had Arthur, and he could not go with her to this foreign land.

            “No, it is _a_ way home, one I’m not willing to use. So… I’m giving it to you. So you can live and be together,” she smiled at them, creasing her icy blue eyes, and held up the purple gem. “I and Argis will give you our translation necklaces, and you’ll be able to start new lives there. You won’t have to live in fear of the Institute, or the Brotherhood…”

            “Just dragons… and giants, and those god things that sent you here, right?” Reagan said sarcastically with a lifted brow, her arms folding over her chest. She remembered what it was like when Skaddi had to use magic to talk to them, and how frustrating it had been. They wouldn’t have to go through that unless they lost their necklaces –a thought that would not doubt drive her and the paladin paranoid.

            The Dragonborn nodded, “Aye, but you’ll be together.”

            Danse looked over at Reagan and she returned the glance. He was always the more rational one, and even though she was the one that had just needed to talk him into living, now he was the one that had to talk her into leaving this land. This land that had been their home. It seemed different to leave to another world than just leave the Commonwealth or the Capital Wasteland. This was going to be a whole new place with its own problems, and they were going to struggle. But Skaddi was right, they would be together. “It’s better than living in hiding and running…” Danse said softly.

            The Knight nodded and relaxed her arms to her side with a sigh. “Fuck it, I’ve always wanted to see Danse dressed like Grognak,” she resorted back to humor despite the situation.

            “Reagan…” the Paladin halfheartedly chided her.

            “What? Like you don’t want to see me running around in a loincloth,” she elbowed his arm with a forced smile that he looked at a little too long, and then she gestured to the Dragonborn. “Okay, how do we do this? What do we need to know?”

            “Do you have your power armor?”

            “Yup.”

            The Dragonborn explain a list to them, with Argis standing close by, showing them. The Dragonborn gave her necklace to Reagan and Argis gave the Knight’s holotags that had been enchanted for him, to Danse –seeing that the holotags were not as feminine as the somewhat gaudy necklace the Dragonborn had been wearing. The list was of materials that they would need to enchant their power armor and weapons as well as how to get coin, find Skaddi’s houses in each city, and who her allies were. She had the man draw up a map, write the general laws, and eventually Danse shook his head and hands, completely overwhelmed. Reagan had been lost for the last hour, so she was rather impressed with what Danse had been able to grasp.

            “I will go with them… if it please my Thane,” Argis said suddenly in a soft voice and Skaddi stiffened, her icy eyes falling on him.

            “Argis, you don’t have to,” Reagan frowned, the Dragonborn had only just gotten her housecarl as a reward for praising one of the Daedric Princes and gaining his favor. If he came with them, then she would have no one but Arthur as friends. Danse shook his head, having the same thoughts.

            “We couldn’t ask that of you,” he used his kind, but insistent voice.

            “There is too much to explain, and one wrong move and you two will make more enemies than your heavy armor can protect you from.” Well that was comforting. He turned to Skaddi, taking hold of her shoulders to say goodbye.

            The soldiers backed up and turned to start packing their supplies as the two spoke, anything and everything they were going to need to survive in an unknown land. Food, anything they had, and thankfully they still had some supplies packed on their armor, and there was some in the bunker.

            It didn’t take them long. She and Danse had worked together since she squired under him eleven years ago. He had just been promoted to knight and she had been approved to take a mentor. She was a little shit, and he had been _way_ too kind to her.

            A couple of times they asked Argis what they would need, if there was food, game to hunt, fresh water, rain water, plants to forage. From what he described, it sounded like they were going to a place that would be a lot like the world before the war.

            Skaddi cleared her throat and looked up at them as they approached in their power armor, stopping in front of her. The Dragonborn handed the gem to Argis who stood between them and both soldiers placed a hand on the nord’s shoulders.

            “Remember, if you want to keep those suits going, you’ll have to have the… ugh, yellow things enchanted, same with the guns, or you’ll be forced to use our weapons,” she added the last part with a smile and Reagan chuckled.

            “I could learn swordsmanship…” she was already handy with a bow because of her strange interests.

            “But all of our opponents will know nothing _but_ that,” Danse pointed out using that tone that told her she wasn’t thinking.

            It was true, even if she learned how to fight with the weapons of Skyrim, she would be little match for those who were born into it –the couple of times she had sparred Skaddi in the ring in the Prydwen she’d been thrown to the ground quite swiftly.

            Reagan nodded, and then sighed, ejecting herself from her power armor. “I’m sorry, but I’m a hugger, get over here, Dragonborn,” the Knight came forward and threw her arms around the nord woman tightly. When Reagan pulled back she smirked, curling her scared lips and she tilted her head, her chestnut ponytail swaying. “You take care of Artie for me. Give him a good swift kick in the ass when he needs it and a hug just the same, you hear me?”

            “Aye, Reagan,” Skaddi smiled and the Knight nodded, clearing her throat. There was so much she needed to have done and said….

            “And uh, tell my friend Merrin I’m sorry I didn’t say bye…. I hope she’ll forgive me. Michael flew you here, yeah?” The nord nodded. “Good, punch him for me, in the arm, hard, tell him I know he stole my Nuka Dark. Those things are rare, and now I’ll never get one.” She was very upset with the Lancer-Sergeant for that, and the want to ride the elevator up and give him a piece of her mind was nearly impossible to resist.

            Skaddi smiled, “I will do my best to remember.”

            Reagan bowed her head and then narrowed her eyes as she remembered the last person on her list, “And slap Haylen. Like, right in the face. That bitch…” she sighed and Danse’s power armor shifted, creaking slightly.

            “Reagan…”

            “I know… I know, I’m stalling…” her honey eyes met Skaddi’s pale blue ones and she frowned. She was so nervous she was shaking. “What’s it going to be like?”

            “Beautiful.”

            That was all she said, but it seemed like it was the only thing she needed to say. They had talked about Skyrim some on their missions together, but she still didn’t have a very good mental image of what it looked like. Well, she was about to find out…

            The Knight nodded and backed up to her armor and climbed in.

            Argis looked at the gem in his hand and then at Skaddi when Reagan’s power armor rested on his shoulder.

            “Thane,” he stated in goodbye.

            “Argis,” she breathed and took a step back from them. The nord man sucked in a deep breath then lifted his hand and threw the gem to the ground.

            The crystal shattered and the black smoke within fell out and rolled up like a flame had been started below it. The thick cloud then shifted, as if a window blew it, and it wrapped around Argis, following up her and Danse’s power-armored hands on the housecarl’s shoulder until the black cloud surrounded them all.

            Reagan’s breath caught, and for a moment all she could see through her visor was the black cloud.

            Then it began to fade away, and her suit started to blare alarms.

            She couldn’t hear anything, but her body went numb as light poured into her helmet and she gaped at the landscape in front of her.

            It was beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's that first chapter? :D


	2. First Sign of Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse and Reagan meet Lydia in Whiterun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First Sign of Spring ~Bambi 2

**Danse**

            The ex-paladin’s suit blared with alarms, telling him of the flux in oxygen, the current radiation levels –or rather, lack of–, loss of nav systems, unknown contaminants in air ways, and even more he had never seen light up before –and he could barely remember from training. His HUD was just about useless at this point with all the warnings, flashes, and colors.

            Danse didn’t even look beyond his display before taking a shocked step back to try to steady himself from the overwhelming input. He noticed, out of the corner of his vision, Knight’s power armor also stumble a step. Everything felt… lighter. Off.

            And when his creamy brown eyes moved to focus on what was passed his HUD, he understood why.

            They stood in a stretch of plain with grass so tall it almost hid the nord in front of them. The grass was a mix of green and yellow, but it was pure, alive, and healthy, nothing like the grasslands in the Commonwealth or Capital Wasteland. In the distance he could make out sparsely placed trees that stretched up to the sky with thick green leaves and needles dressing the dark brown trunks in a way he’d only seen in destroyed and old paintings. Overhead was a bright blue sky, clear of clouds, and with a single sun that looked a little too big, blazing at what he would have assumed was sixteen-hundred back home, but he had no way of knowing if that was accurate here.

            Argis turned to the soldiers in power armor and smiled. “Welcome to Skyrim, my friends.”

            “No shit,” Knight breathed and Danse resisted chiding her because honestly he didn’t think he could speak. “This is…”

            “Take a moment, we’re going to Whiterun first,” the nord pointed and both suits turned to look behind them. In the distance Danse could just make out what looked like a small mountain, but then he noticed the shape and was able to make out the outline of buildings. A City. Beyond that was a very, very, _very_ large mountain that stretched so high he couldn’t see the top even with the clear sky because of the sheer _distance_. “There we will collect Lydia, one of my Thane’s other housecarls, and we will visit the court wizard to have him enchant your gear.”

            Danse nodded and turned to look around them again. It seemed like in every direction there were mountains, taller than he’d ever seen, and all topped with snow. Snow. He’d never seen pure snow before. He’d seen the acidic, tainted, off-white fluff that fell from the sky in the Capital every few years, but that wasn’t snow.

            The ex-paladin looked over to his comrade to see her suit turning to survey the area as well, her hand resting on her stomach. That was odd, he wondered if she felt ill. No doubt they would both spend the next few months growing used to the contagions and illnesses of this world. Hopefully they would not be too severe for their magic to cure. How disappointing would it be to be given this second chance and lose it to disease?

            He wished he could see her face, usually she was pretty easy to read, Knight hid very little, was open with her feelings about near everything. In the years they’d served together, he knew she was interested in him, but she appeared to be interested in… well, everyone. He just took it was it was, her flirtations were part of her personality.

            But he had neglected to notice she never had a serious relationship, but when they spoke privately together about their lives and wishes for the future, she told him how much she wanted a family, and to be married. Two things he had also wanted, but had kept pushed back, allowing his career to take charge.

            How dumb had he felt when Dragonborn Skaddi had snapped at them both for not telling the other about their feelings. Danse hadn’t fully realized how much he cared about Knight until she took his hand and bit her lip, her too-dark honey eyes locked on his face. He had kissed her, then, surprising them both.

            Sometime during that the Dragonborn left them and Reagan told him how long she’d had feelings for him, and he explained why he hadn’t expressed an interest. She was his subordinate, he was not only her mentor, but her CO and it would have been _immensely_ inappropriate, and he had no way of knowing that her flirtations were an expression of interest and not just another harmless joke.

            Knight’s hand fell from her stomach and she grabbed her laser rifle, lifting it to aim passed Danse’s right shoulder. When she spoke, he could hear it in his helmet, showing their coms were still linked, and through the auditory filter because of her close proximity.

            “Contact six.”

            Danse spun around, bringing up his laser rifle to aim at whatever it was she’d targeted. It was a white-skinned goliath standing a hundred yards to the west –well, if the directions on this planet were the same as Earth’s. It was something like a behemoth, but thinner and without as skewed of features.

            It had only just noticed them, regarding them with a tilted head.

            Then it shifted its shoulders and brought into view a large club that looked to be made from the leg bone of an enormous animal.

            “Wait! Don’t shoot him!” Argis jumped in front of Danse as he collected himself and took aim.

            “Is it hostile?”

            “Uh…” the nord wrinkled his nose at the woman. “If we keep our distance he won’t be.”

            Knight’s helmet turned to him, and Danse nodded. Until their gear was enchanted so they no longer used ammunition or fuel, they would need to conserve everything they could. “Very well, we leave it. Now, to the city of Whiterun, correct, Argis?”

            “Aye, stay close, and let me do the talking, you… will draw some attention.”

            Reagan chuckled, a sound that warmed him. “Only some? I guess to your people this is just another set of armor, huh?”

            “Aye, but some will be suspicious. With the Stormcloaks in charge of Skyrim, much hatred has been spread through the land, and tolerance for outsiders wanes,” Argis frowned and adjusted the leather of his armor.

            “I thought you and Skaddi said that Ulfric Stormcloak was the true High King of Skyrim?” Knight shifted her weight, looking around as she spoke. Danse barely remembered the Dragonborn’s list of titles, but with Reagan’s mention of the name, he recalled.

            “Aye, it is a… very sensitive subject.”

            “Most politics are,” Danse breathed and the nord nodded.

            “We should get moving, it will be sundown before we reach the city.”

            Danse turned back and narrowed his eyes at Whiterun. It couldn’t be _that_ far, he had too good of a visual…

 

 

            It was that far. The air in Skyrim was crisp, clear, and gave superb visual acuity. Even at night they were able to see so much better from the light of two moons and countless stars. Reagan fell behind several times, having paused to look up. Again he wished they were outside their armor so that he could see her face, the wonder she expressed would be so beautiful….

            Whiterun looked like something described in a novel. It loomed over them with towering walls made of stone. Guards dressed in chainmail and blue cloth patrolled, paying them long enough looks for Danse to know they were keeping an eye on them, even if they didn’t look it.

            As they approached the gate, the ex-paladin noted the banner of the city was yellow with a horse’s profile, while the shields of the guards were blue like their surcoats and had a roaring bear. Looking closer, he could see the walls of the city had been recently repaired, though not fully, and showed signs of having taken heavy damage within the last year.

            “We’ll stop at my Thane’s home and see if Lydia is there,” Argis said and stopped that the gate when the guard stepped up to him.

            “The Dragonborn’s housecarl, been a while, Argis,” the masked man spoke, his accent even heavier than the nord they’d come to know.

            “Ah, Fjoll, didn’t recognize you under all that Stormcloak armor. Switch sides so quickly?” the larger nord spoke, crossing his arms and looking over the guard with his good eye.

            “The only way to survive. They would have killed my Valji and Merna right beside me if I stood for Bulgruuf.” The guard’s hand rested on his sword pommel and then he shifted to look at the power-armored soldiers. “Who do you travel with? I’ve never seen armor like that before.”

            Argis turned back to look at them, looking like he was trying to come up with something believable. “Dwemer ruins. The Dragonborn found them, and wanted me to bring them here to have Farengar look at them for study.”

            “Where is the Dragonborn? We heard she disappeared, you followed shortly after,” the guard turned his attention back to the nord.

            “She’s currently visiting her ma in Solstheim. The defeat of Alduin took its toll,” Argis lied easily.

            “That was where she was headed, yes, but the ship–”

            “I am very sorry, Fjoll, but my Thane is well and of no concern of the Whiterun guard. So, I must ask that you allow me and my party to pass, we have important duties to attend to.”

            Fjoll regarded Danse and Reagan again before letting out a breath and turned to his other guard. “All right, but we need to see under their helmets.”

            “What?” Argis narrowed his eyes.

            “To make sure they’re nords.”

            “Since when?” The housecarl tightened his arms and stood straighter.

            “Non-humans have to pay a visitor’s tax, it’s lower for humans that are not nords.”

            “But nords are exempt?”

            “Aye, this is our land, we do not have to pay to visit our cities.”

            Danse looked over at Reagan who was shifting in her armor. Argis turned to them and then nodded once. Both soldiers lifted their helmets off and showed the guard their faces. He lifted his torch to look them over, having to stretch some. Neither soldier bent to make it easier on him.

            “All right, nord enough by my eye,” he sighed and they placed their helmets back. “Enjoy your stay. And High King Ulfric has put out a request for your Thane, asking she come to him in Windhelm to discuss important matters.”

            “I’ll pass the word along to her the next time I see her,” Argis promised.

            The gates were opened and Danse looked up at the fire-lit city. Cobblestone streets stretched up in all directions, weaving between buildings and up the hill toward a castle. The homes were made of wood, built in a similar way to each other, taking on different sizes and purposes with sighs sticking out from the shops with creative names and symbols painted on them.

            A range of flowers and colored plants lined the streets, and he looked closer at them as they passed, trying to see if he recognized any of them. His HUD was still going off, but he had managed to mute it. Some of the systems had calmed as the environment was not toxic, and proved to be… better than home.

            Better than Earth, rather. This was home now….

            “Danse,” Reagan’s voice called him, and he turned in time to see a strange looking man walk along in front if them toward a building called The Drunken Huntsman. He had dark skin and pointed ears with tall, brown hair and narrowed, slanted eyes. He was also quite short, and was dressed in clothes, but had a bow on his back with a quiver of arrows. He opened his mouth, then closed it, blinking at the man, and Argis continued on ahead of the two soldiers, leaving them standing near the bridge in front of a blacksmith’s shop.

            Knight recovered before he did and she urged him forward with a hand on his shoulder plate. He glanced back at her and then marched forward behind the nord who was knocking on the door of a small house off the main street that went straight from the front gate to what looked like a town square circling a well.

            The door opened and a woman stepped out. She was dressed in steel looking armor with animal fur accenting it. She appeared to be young, not much older than Reagan, and not quite as old as Danse, but she was built just as Skaddi had been, and that was very apparent even with her heavy armor.

            “Argis, what is it? Where is our Thane?” her brows drew together and she looked up at the power armor suits. “Who are these men?”

            “We must come inside and speak, make room for them,” he stepped toward her and she frowned, her hand on the door tightening as if she considered closing it before she stepped back and allowed the Bulwark in. Danse and Reagan waited outside in the warm night air as they moved furniture around to allow the large suits in and room to park them.

            Once they were done, Danse waved for Knight to go ahead of him and waited for her to come back and call him in. She looked so small outside of her armor, especially now that Argis and the woman he could only assume was Lydia, were standing close enough to dwarf her.

            The house was very small, a single room acting as the entry, living room, kitchen, and dining room. An open staircase hugged the left wall, and he noted there was no railing, but it also made the room feel more cramped and made it hard to move his armor between the steps and the fire pit in the middle of the floor. He actually had to turn sideways and stand on his toes to get by it, something he’d never had to do in his armor before.

            Reagan laughed, and he turned to tell her to stop, but halted when he saw her smile. Her freckled cheeks were high, creasing her eyes, and her soft lips were spread over her teeth. It was a beautiful sight, and he decided not to chide her for it.

            Danse parked his armor under the stairs, while Reagan had hers facing a wall between a cabinet and a dinner table in the back corner. He didn’t miss the way Lydia stared at them and whispered to Argis who shook his head and whispered back. Knight looked like she was trying to ignore them as she looked at the house and grinned wider and wider.

            “Look at this, Sebastian,” she removed her hood and picked up a red ball from a wooden bowl on the bookshelf. She turned to him and he noticed the ball was a fruit and his brows pulled together.

            “What… is it?”

            “An apple,” Lydia said and they both looked over at her.

            “This is an apple?” Reagan tilted her head and lifted it to her nose to sniff it. “Is… it safe to eat?”

            “Of course?” Lydia frowned and Reagan’s lips drew back and her teeth sunk into the red flesh. There was a crisp tear, and Danse watched her bite through what looked like a hard surface. Her honey gaze caught the firelight as she kept his stare, and read his expression as much as he was hers. Then her eyes rolled back and right as he was about to ask her if she was okay, she moaned.

            “Er mer, gerd, Danse, thers ers ser gerd,” she spoke around her mouthful and pushed the fruit toward his face.

            “Knight,” he frowned, took the apple, and pulled his hood off of his head. He looked at it, at where she’d taken a sizeable bite. Always a bold one, Knight Reagan Knight. Of course she would take a huge bite out of unknown produce….

            The ex-paladin turned the apple over and then sighed, bringing it to his mouth and used the bite she’d taken to start his. His teeth slid right through the soft flesh, but he noticed how hard it was to push through once you got at a certain angle. He tilted the apple in his grasp and pulled, his mouth closing to sever the last bit connecting the pieces. There was some juice to it, and it was dripped down his chin into his beard, but he didn’t notice with the sweet sting that burned his teeth and squinted his eyes.

            “It’s good right?” Knight asked with a smile and wiped the drip from his lip and chin, then licked her thumb off, keeping his gaze locked on hers.

            He nodded and chewed, the soft of the fruit quickly turning to a sweet mush in his mouth. Danse waited for the sting of radiation, for his throat to fight his swallow, and for his stomach to churn. But it didn’t. It was… clean. Like eating cooked meat, but it was so much better.

            “Where are they from?” Lydia said then, and Argis sighed.

            Reagan turned and Danse followed, looking at the nords who were staring each other down. “Another world. It is where our Thane is. She stayed behind to help them –and she’s met a man. I doubt we will see her again until we go to Sovngarde.”

            “What world?” her brows drew together and she looked over at the soldiers.

            “It’s called Earth,” Reagan said and plucked the apple from Danse’s grasp. “We are from what is left of the United States of America, more specifically the Capital Wasteland.”

            “‘Wasteland’? What is ‘left’? What happened to your world?” Lydia folded her arms and frowned.

            “A great nuclear war, two hundred years before the current time,” Danse spoke up.

            “I do not understand,” Lydia looked at Argis who grunted and rubbed his face.

            “Now is not the time. We have much to do and little time to do it. I have to go to each of the Thane’s organizations and relay messages to them, tell them to find new leadership, that she may return, but it is not guaranteed.” The nord male looked down at Lydia and sighed. “I’ll need your assistance.”

            “Of course,” she bowed her head and then looked at the guests. “What of them?”

            “They have translation necklaces, it is the only way they are able to speak with us and understand.”

            “That is dangerous, they will need to learn at least the common tongue…”

            “Aye, but before that, we need Farengar to enchant their armor and weapons so that they do not need to train in our styles of fighting. At least for now.”

            Lydia nodded. “In the morning, when the keep is open to visitors. I will have an appointment made.” Then she gestured upstairs. “The man may have my bed, upstairs and through that door there, the lady can have the Thane’s bed, right above us here.”

            Reagan snorted and bit into the apple again. “Can we share a bed?”

            Lydia eyed them and Danse felt his nose and cheekbones go red. “Aye… I was not aware you were… together.”

            “Yup,” Knight turned back to Danse who lifted a thick brow at her and she smiled, keeping her lips closed as she chewed. “That’s okay, right? We’re not married yet but…”

            Lydia cleared her throat and nodded. “Aye, it’s… fine. Just don’t go around announcing it.”

            Argis chuckled, “No imperials to shame them or worm into their business; they should have no trouble.”

            Lydia sighed and nodded, “Aye, one good thing to come of this new leadership. Though I do say the Battle-Borns are quite unpleasant to be around now.”

            The male nord nodded, his arms crossed, “I imagine so.”

            Reagan stretched her arms and then cleared her throat. “I think I’m ready to hit the hay, if that’s okay.”

            Both nords looked at her and lifted brows, then Argis nodded, “You mean to retire, aye?”

            “Aye,” Reagan chuckled and Danse shook his head, turning his back to them to get their duffle bags off of the power armor. Then he slung one over his shoulder and held the other at his side. Knight came up to him and took hers from him with a smile and they went upstairs to the large bed that the Dragonborn had apparently slept in once since buying the home.

            The ex-paladin closed the door and turned back to catch Reagan standing up from where she’d sat on the side of the bed to unlace her boots and kick them off. Then she looked up at him and grinned, her fingers coming up the belt at her throat and she unlatched it, freeing the zipper so she could start to draw it down its track.

            Lydia had given her a candle to light the ones up here in the room so they could see, but it was dim, and ended up giving the room a whole different feeling than he was expecting. The shadows cast on Reagan accented her body, and he felt his heart start to pick up already.

            “Just gonna stand there?”

            “It’s been a long day…” he started and had to wet his lips. Her zipper was down to the end of its track and he could see her black bra holding her breasts up and together, giving them a nice crease in between the fastener teeth.

            “Then come relax, sir,” she smiled and pulled off her gloves, tossing them onto a chest beside the bed. Then she peeled the uniform down her arms and let it hang on her hips. It was a sight he’d seen more than once. Often when working on power armor soldiers tied their uniforms down half way, and Reagan wasn’t fond of wearing a tank top like most women, and had been more than comfortable in her bra while working on the suits. He had gotten used to it –almost.

            But they were together now, and he had seen passed all of her clothes. He had seen her completely naked from hair to toe, and that image was what taunted him now. Because he knew what was under that black cloth, and passed that orange and cream uniform.

            And he wanted to see it.

            To touch it.

            “Damn it, Reagan,” he growled and went to her, grabbing her tight and pulled her to his chest, his lips descending on hers, pulling her into a hot kiss.

            She moaned against his mouth and bit at him in a mock self-defense. Her fingers slid up his arms onto his neck and then into his hair. When he pulled away she whined and tugged on his roots.

            “We shouldn’t…” he frowned at her and thought about the nords downstairs. It wasn’t very hard to hear them, they were speaking softly below, and no doubt any noise that Danse and Reagan made would be very easily heard.

            “We’ll be quiet, I just… need to feel you,” she whispered in his ear and started to unbuckle his uniform and open him up.

            “I think we might need to slow things down, Reagan,” he whispered as kindly as he could, feeling his heart racing. He wanted to touch her so badly, to love her like he had before he learned he wasn’t human… but he couldn’t, and he wasn’t ready to try to act like none of the last forty-eight hours happened.

            She was… acting like they hadn’t just come into a new world, traveled six hours down a _cobblestone road_ to a city with wooden bridges and rock walls. With guards that were armed with swords and axes dressed in chainmail and plate armor.

            Reagan was acting like they were in his quarters on the Prydwen, safe and private. Acting like he was no different now than he was a week ago….

            “Oh,” she breathed and stepped back from him, the hurt obvious on her face. Her hand touched her stomach, the palm flat on the muscle and it drew his eye. Why did she keep touching her abdomen? The ex-knight cleared her throat and dropped her hands. “I’m sorry if you didn’t want sleep in the same bed,” she turned away from him.

            “No, Reagan, I didn’t mean…” he frowned and gently took her arm. “I just need some time. It’s been a _really_ long day.”

            “I… just hoped for a distraction I guess,” she kept her face turned away from him and he thought he saw her breath catch.

            “Knight?” he stepped around her to look over her face and she bit her lip, squeezing her eyes shut. “Are you… crying?”

            “No,” when she spoke the word split with a sob and she flinched.

            “I’m sorry, I want to, I just–”

            “It’s fine, it’s fine,” she pushed him away and wiped at her face and nodded. “I’m fine.”

            “You’re crying,” he stood his ground, not sure if he should try to comfort her with word or physical contact. She had pushed him away, but she always reacted better when touch was involved. He decided to appeal to her primary love language and draped his arms around her. “I’m just asking for tonight, Reagan. Just tonight to sleep and take everything in.”

            “I–I know, I’m not sure–re why I’m–crying,” she breathed in deeply and then shook her head.

            “Are you ill? You keep touching your stomach, how do you feel?” he lowered his hand to her belly and her breath caught again. Her back was pressed against his chest, and his face was in her neck. She placed her hands over his and she bit her lip.

            “I’m pregnant, Danse.”

            He froze, and his hand on her stomach suddenly felt like it was burning, but he refused to pull away from her. “W–what?”

            “It’s yours, before you ask,” she breathed in through her nose to clear it and let out the air shakily. “Cade gave me the positive test before I left the Prydwen to save you.”

            “I’m… you’re…” he blinked. Danse’s throat closed and he turned her around to look at her more squarely as if part of him thought she was joking. Reagan Knight was known to jest about things she probably shouldn’t, but you could tell she was joking by the smirk on her lips. She always smirked, even if it was just a little. There was no smirk now. Just wide, worried honey eyes with tears rimming them and streaming down her cheeks.

            “We’re pregnant, Sebastian. You’re going to be a dad.”

            Danse felt like the ground he’d been standing on had crumbled or been ripped out from under him, so he held tight to her shoulders and tried to slow his breathing.

            Tried to swallow.

            Tried to blink.

            Tried to close his mouth.

            All he could do was think.

            One little sentence.

            _I’m going to be a father…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Giants! And Elves! And Apples! OH MY! BABIES! xD


	3. The Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse needs to talk about feelings. And there's an attack...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little longer, with some humor in it, in my opinion xD
> 
> The Attack ~Mulan 2

**Reagan**

Danse was just standing there, staring. Reagan’s heart pounded in her chest and tears dripped down her cheeks. She didn’t know what she was thinking. Now was _not_ the time to tell him this. She should have waited until… for…

            “Say something,” she breathed, her voice cracking and he blinked, swallowing hard.

            “How… is that possible?”

            Reagan shrugged, “You have human DNA, you’re… a person. Is… that so hard to believe?” She thought this was what he wanted. He wanted a family, kids, they’d talked about it…

            “I’m a synth, Reagan,” he started and shook his head, looking down at her stomach with his nose wrinkled. The disgust on his face hurt her and she felt her own features twist. “How do we know it’ll… be healthy? What… it’ll…” he ran his hands through his thick, black hair and grabbed onto the roots, looking only at her exposed flesh.

            She didn’t know what to say back to that. What could she say? It looked like it was pretty obvious he didn’t want this anymore. He didn’t want a family with her. He might have been okay with just the two of them, but this…

            “I… need some air,” she felt nauseated and stepped around him to get her boots, zipping up her uniform as she did so.

            “Reagan, I–”

            “No, no, Sebastian, it’s fine, I just need a minute,” she sniffed hard through her nose to clear it and slipped her feet into her boots.

            “No, I didn’t mean it–”

            Reagan lifted her hands. “When I come back we’ll talk about it. I need a minute or I’m going to throw up.”

            Then she stepped around him and quickly descended the stairs.

            Lydia turned to her and opened her mouth to say something, but Reagan lifted her hand to silence her and Argis narrowed his brows in confusion. Without a word, or explanation, the Knight went to the door and stepped out into the cool night air. To her right was the city, she could probably find a bar, but she couldn’t drink so that was pointless. To her left was the main gate. She could leave the city, but what would that do? Leave her vulnerable, and she didn’t know if she could get back in on her own… well, at least she looked like a nord.

            Reagan turned to head deeper into the city and crossed her arms against the frigid air. It looked like it was spring, early spring, but spring enough for colors to line the fire-lit streets. It would have been beautiful if she wouldn’t have been so pissed off.

            Reagan ended up at a well in the middle of a market. She stood looking over into it, placing her hands on the stone sides so she could bend and steady herself. A soft sob broke through her lips and she squeezed her eyes shut.

            “Fuck, why am I crying?” Her hand came up to rest on her stomach and she nodded. Yeah, she knew why, but she wished she wasn’t so… emotionally compromised. Why couldn’t she just get sick and barf? Why did she need to get so sensitive?

            Fuck, all he said was he didn’t want to have sex tonight. He even said he wanted to, just not tonight. Today had been… _horribly_ long and so much happened. The man lost his entire sense of self as well as the only family he’s ever had, _and_ the world he came from. She, honestly, was doing better than him. At least she was human, she hadn’t lost that part of herself. Sure, she lost the same family –a little more since she had abandoned her parents without so much as a goodbye– and her world, on top of learning the man she loved for a majority of her life was a synth and was ordered by one of her childhood friends to kill him. Add on top of that that she was pregnant from said synth, and she could almost argue that she and Danse were just as big of emotional wrecks as the other.

            It wasn’t a competition, though. And she would never compare herself to him. She wouldn’t even say she knew what he was going through because she didn’t. She just knew she handled stress differently than he did. Physical contact –especially sexual– had always been her way out. Before Danse, Knight Logan Rhys had been her safety net. They had a good thing going. She didn’t even need to explain herself, what was wrong, or ask him. All she had to do was go up to him, touch his shoulder, and tell him where to meet her.

            Danse was different. Danse didn’t know how to talk about feelings, but they had to, because that was apart of being in a relationship. Danse was good at giving and following orders, but this wasn’t something you could command or instruct.

            She needed him to tell her how he felt about her being pregnant with his baby. She needed to know that he loved her, and the child. She needed to hear him say those words, not some bullshit about her ‘knowing she’s the most important thing to him’. No. She needed to hear ‘Reagan, I love you. I love our baby.’

            But it had taken him learning he was a synth and for her to talk him out of death to say he loved her. How could she expect him to tell her what she needed to hear without telling him out right?

            She should go back and tell him…. Sometimes Danse just needed things explained to him. Laid out, planned out, explained.

            Reagan straightened up, rubbed her face, and turned around, nearly smacking right into the person that was standing behind her.

            “Oh–I’m sorry!” she huffed and stepped back, then blinked and looked into their glowing eyes.

            The man looked her over, his brows heavy. He was a large thing, taller than her, looking a lot like Argis, but with black hair and fiery eyes. His lips curled back in a smile that showed teeth that were… wrong. Reagan took a step back and glared at him, her gaze flicking quickly to the black and red leather-looking clothes he wore.

            “It is… quite all right,” he said with a small hiss underlying his tone. Her entire body told her to run, that something was wrong with him. But what would she know? That man when they entered the city looked wrong –pointed ears, harsh features, and unnatural eyes– this man could be just another being like that. “You look… sad,” he commented with a tilt of his head.

            “I’m fine,” she lied and tried to slow her breathing, swallowing hard against the rising fear in her throat. His blazing eyes flitted down to her neck to watch it bob, and then returned to her face.

            “You… are not from here.”

            “That obvious, hmm?” she tried to be casual, tried to summon up her courage, but that gnawing at the back of her head told her to _run_.

            He couldn’t have gotten into the city without passing countless guards…

            Where were the guards?

            She couldn’t see any out of the corners of her eyes, but what she _could_ see were shadows moving.

            Reagan risked looking away from him to see a man with green skin, an under-bite, and pointed ears standing with his right hand stretched up over his shoulder to hold the handle of a weapon on his back.

            _Not. Good_.

            She bolted. Running forward, right into the burning eyed man so that he was shoved out of her way. But she hadn’t laced her boots, and as she ran the tongue stretched out and made her sprint awkward.

            Reagan had just reached the door to the Dragonborn’s house when she was grabbed by her hair and ripped backward. A scream escaped her lips, loud and high.

            She hit the ground and felt the sting run up her tailbone to the base of her neck, snap her teeth together, and made her vision blur for a moment. Then she was being dragged backward by her hair.

            Fighting, Reagan reached up and found the hand, grabbed it with strong fingers and twisted. The figure hissed and she planted her feet and bent her body, pulling the man toward her, and then over her shoulder, using the force to put her in a standing position. He fiery eyed man grunted when he hit the ground, and then stood quickly, tilting his head at her in a way that reminded her of a super mutant hound. His lips were pulled back over his teeth in a snarl.

            “ _Vampires!_ ”

            Reagan didn’t know where the shout came from, but it was accompanied by the sound of fighting. Though… quieter than she was used to. Instead of gunfire, there were arrows flying through the air, right passed her and into the man before her. The grating sound of steel on steel clashing touched her ears and made her spine crawl.

            The Dragonborn’s door opened and Lydia and Argis came out, their weapons drawn and ready as they entered the fight without prompting. Reagan didn’t have a weapon. Her laser rifle was on her power armor….

            The blistering eyed man growled and fled for the front gate. No one seemed to notice as other vampires came out of the shadows. Reagan looked from the door to the house, seeing Danse step out with his rifle in hand, turning to identify targets, but not firing.

            “Paladin, behind you, running, HTV!”

            Immediately, Danse spun around and aimed, firing the beautiful, familiar red beams out after the bloodsucker that hit the gate at a run. He stumbled and the Paladin shifted his aim downward to get his legs.

            Then the vampire lifted a golden light in his hand and it flashed, taking over his body for a moment and his stumbles turned into health strides. Reagan could hear Danse swear, and she took off running after the target.

            “Knight!”

            It was hard to ignore the command, she knew the tone well. ‘Don’t do it’. But she did it anyway.

            Reagan leapt forward as the vampire reached the first bridge. She tackled him to the ground and threw a hard punch into his face listening to the sweet sound of a crack.

            The thing hissed at her like an animal and threw her off of him, baring his teeth again and lifted a red spell that she’d never seen Skaddi use. He cast it and Reagan staggered, watching as her body took on a faint scarlet glow and some sort of essence left her. She felt nauseous and barely was able to keep herself on her feet as she stared at the vampire. What was he doing to her? She… felt weak, like… she was dying…

            It felt like she’d been thrown right back into the Glowing Sea with Danse and Skaddi. Her health gave way to the radiation, and she took it harder than the Paladin, and they’d given their Rad-X to the Dragonborn to keep her alive. _She_ was more important than either soldier, and she needed to be kept alive. But that day Reagan had almost been lost to the radiation, and from what she gathered from Danse and Cade talking… she had almost turned into a ghoul. It took over a week for her eyes to go back to the warm honey color they used to be, but now they were still too dark, constantly reminding her of what had almost happened.

            Now she felt so similar. Her knees buckled and bent and she kneeled in front of the vampire as the red light left her and circled him, making his eyes burn brighter. She growled, trying to think of something to do, but she was lost in the feeling. Frozen in the memory of what happened before and imagined it happening now.

            Then a red flash struck the vampire in the head and he flopped like a sack of tatoes. Reagan gasped and fell backward, hard against the cobblestone.

            Danse was there, his weapon dropped to his side and his arms slipped under her head to hold her up. “Knight, speak to me. Say something,” he ordered and she swallowed.

            “I’m sorry,” she breathed and he shook his head, pulling her up to his chest, her face pressed into the crook of his neck. Weakly she slid her arms around him.

            “Don’t ever do something stupid like that again, Reagan,” he growled and she nodded, tears dripping down her cheek to wet his uniform. “I can’t loose you too, not now… not after all this.”

            She whimpered and curled her fingers on him, holding fistfuls of his uniform. “Fuck magic… I had him…” she whispered and felt the Paladin shake with what she thought was a chuckle, but might have been a cry, she couldn’t see his face after all.

            “You can’t be so reckless anymore, Reagan,” he said after a moment and pulled back just enough so that he could look down at her with her face still on his shoulder. “We’re pregnant, you have to think about that.”

            Her heart swelled and she whined a little before being able to speak. “You… aren’t mad?”

            “Mad that I have a family? After all this?” he shook his head and his arms tightened defensively. “No, Reagan, I… was scared,” he admitted, it looked like it was hard for him to saw anything, and he looked at the road rather than at her. “I just want it to be healthy… normal,” his jaw clenched and he looked angry. “I don’t know what I’d do if something was wrong with it because of me…”

            Reagan tried to straighten up, but settled for touching his face. “Our baby is going to be fine, Danse. Don’t… I thought you were… _disgusted_ with me for having your child…”

            His eyes snapped over to her. “No, Reagan, no, I didn’t think that at all. I couldn’t get the image out of my head… the baby…” his nose wrinkled. “Deformed… because of me… and you….” The Paladin’s hand cupped her face, holding it so she looked at him squarely. “I saw your disappointment and hurt. What if I can’t give you that? A healthy child? What if something–?”

            “Shh,” she whispered and pressed her thumb to his lips. “You can’t think like that. You can’t let yourself think that way, Sebastian.” His eyes squeezed shut and he took a deep breath. “There’s no reason that if I can get pregnant by you, that it wouldn’t turn out perfectly healthy.”

            He frowned at that and shook his head, not accepting her reply. But he looked down at her and kissed her forehead. “I need you, Reagan. I can’t loose you.”

            “I’m not going anywhere, Sebastian,” she promised and turned her face up to catch his lips, needing the contact. “I love you.”

 

 

            Reagan woke up in the large bed in Breezehome feeling absolutely terrible. Her head was pounding and she felt like she was going to throw up. As she sat up, she rubbed at her eyes and looked around the dark room. Last night she and Danse blew out the candles before going to sleep, so it was nearly black in the room. Frowning she wondered how you were supposed to relight the wicks in the morning so you could prepare for the day…

            Turning slightly, she looked over her shoulder at the man lying in the bed beside her. He was only in his boxers, lying on his side, facing where she had just been. He had one arm tucked under the pillow supporting his head while the other was stretched out in front of him, toward her.

            She wanted to go back to him, to curl up in his arms, but she needed to pee… very badly. So she stood up and grabbed her bra from where she’d tossed it to the ground –having to feel some with her foot in the darkness. Last night had been a mess. After Argis and Lydia found them they got her a health tonic and she felt better, but since then she’s had a searing ache in the back of her head. When they got back to Breezehome –after talking to the guards for near an hour– she was exhausted, and Danse was cranky, so they went right to bed, stripping down and then ended up how they always did when they were in the same bed now: spooning.

            Danse was always big spoon, and Reagan loved it. In the night they drifted some, turning in their sleep, or something, but they were always touching. It comforted her, and she knew it did him too. When he held her he didn’t have nightmares. Back in the Glowing Sea during their fight, when he was pulling away from her, he’d tried to sleep alone, and he’d woken up from a horrible nightmare that left him panting and sweating.

            She liked knowing he slept better with her.

            The Knight peeked her head out of the bedroom door and looked around, noticing the fire downstairs was lit and illuminated everything outside the bedroom. She stepped out and looked for a rest room. Surely they’d have one.

            “Can I do something for you, lady Reagan?”

            Knight jumped, and turned around, blinking at Argis who was coming up the stairs. His good eye stayed on her face, despite her being in her, oh what did they call them? Small clothes? That was cute.

            “Uh, bathroom?”

            “Bath? There should be a basin in the room to wash yourself,” he looked back at the door.

            “Oh, no, I need a, uh, toilet…”

            He opened his mouth, and then frowned, blinking a couple times. Then she shifted her hips, the need to pee growing worse. “Ah, um, we do not have those, lady Reagan,” he frowned and cleared his throat. “The best you’ll have here are chamber pots and… buckets.”

            “Buck– oh fuck…” Reagan pressed her hand to her forehead. The wasteland had at least _somewhat_ prepared her for this. Working toilets were only found in _nice_ buildings and the Prydwen. Out in the waste, you were lucky if you found an unused toilet in a stall, otherwise it was basically a prewar porter-potty… only… stationary. And severely disgusting. Often you were better off just finding a corner in some abandoned building and squatting. “Well, where’s a bucket then?”

            “There should be a chamber pot in the bedroom,” he said and gestured. Back the way she came.

            “So… I have to piss in a pot in front of my sleeping boyfriend?”

            Argis smirked a little at that and folded his arms. “You were offered separate rooms. If you are willing to sleep together, why not relief yourself in his company?”

            “Because… that’s different,” she pointed out. To be _perfectly_ honest, she didn’t care about doing it, it was more so she was worried _Danse_ would care she was doing it. The last thing she wanted to do was wake him with her tinkle and then him be grossed out that she did it in front of him. She didn’t care if he did, she’d been around when guys opened their flight suits and took a piss on the side of the road. But –of course– women were different, and guys got weird about that kind of thing.

            “Of course it is, lady Reagan,” he nodded and gestured behind him. “I have breakfast ready when you and the Paladin are up. Lydia has gone to the keep to have an appointment with the court wizard, Farengar, made.”

            “Okay, I’ll… get ready. Um… what about when I’m done?” she asked.

            Argis lifted a brow and then smirked right out. “There is a plant beside the pot. Use its leaves. It should be quite full since it has had little use.”

            “Use… leaves?” Reagan clarified with a nod and sighed. “All right, better than my hand I suppose.” Then she paused. “And… do I… dump it? Somewhere…?”

            Argis shook his head, “Lydia is this home’s guardian, she will take care of that.”

            “So Lydia’s going to dump my pee?”

            “Aye.”

            Reagan pressed her hand to her forehead. At least she didn’t have to shit yet. She didn’t know if she knew Lydia well enough to be okay with that. This was going to be so much fun to explain to Danse. “Okay, well… I’ll be back with him in a few,” she said and went back to the bedroom. Danse had rolled over onto his stomach and was taking up the middle of the bed now. She looked around, letting her eyes adjust to the dimness of the room.

            There was a plant in the corner with a dark spot on the ground.

            _Outstanding…._

            As quietly as she could she approached the pot and felt the sides of it with her feet to get a feel for how she was going to go about doing this. Then Reagan summoned up all her nerves and cursed herself for being such a pussy. She was going to pee in a pot. That was _normal_ here. Argis thought her being so uncomfortable about it was what was laughable, _not_ the actual act of it.

            Sighing, she pulled her underwear down and squatted over the pot and let it flow. And Christ was there a lot. She hadn’t even realized. She actually hurt a little when she was done…

            Using the leaves as Argis had instructed, she cleaned herself best she could and stood up, pulling her panties back up. Normally she wore a thong, so she was happy it’d been an off day when she decided to skip out on her world without packing extra undergarments. Argis was polite, but he probably would have said something if her asscheeks were hanging out.

            “Nice to know you’re comfortable enough around me to do that,” Danse’s voice came from the bed, slightly muffled as his face was pressed into the pillow.

            “Ah, shit, you’re awake?”

            “Since you got up….”

            Reagan walked over to the washbasin and dipped her hands in the cold water and rubbed them around to get them as clean as she was going to before turning back to the Paladin who was getting up from the bed. “Awe, don’t get up… I was coming back…”

            “Argis said there was food prepared. We shouldn’t keep it waiting,” he stretched and she came forward, allowing her hands to slide up over his muscled stomach and chest. He turned his attention down to her and lifted a brow.

            “How do you feel?” she asked softly and let her fingers brush through his chest hair.

            “Better now that I’ve slept. I needed… time to think about everything. It’s… a lot in one day, Reagan.”

            “I know, I’m sorry, Danse. I was going to tell you later, when everything calmed down…”

            “You should have told me in the bunker,” he tilted her face up to look at him and she shook her head.

            “I wanted you to want to live for yourself, not for me or a baby.”

            He leaned down and kissed her, taking away her breath as he pulled her closer, flush against him. “I need something to live for. You. A baby. Those are perfect reasons to keep fighting,” he rested his forehead against hers. “If I have you,” his hand slid down to her stomach, “and a baby, then I have everything.”

            Reagan nodded and closed her eyes, hot tears spilling onto her cheeks. “Damn it, I keep crying…. Everything makes me cry now. I’m going to look at a fucking flower and start sobbing.”

            Danse kissed her cheek, catching the tear. “I’ll be here for you every step of the way.”

            “I love you, Sebastian Danse,” she said, taking a deep breath and reached up to hold his face.

            He closed his eyes and smiled at that. “You’re my world, Reagan Knight.”

            “I want to be Reagan Danse,” she laughed and sniffed, her nose having started to run.

            “I like how that sounds,” he kissed her again and she moved her arms around his neck and pressed hard against him, trying to get as close as she could. He pulled away, smiling as she whimpered. “I have to use the bucket,” he explained and she shook her head.

            “That’s going to be one thing I’m going to miss…”

           

 

            Farengar was an… odd man. He had a bit of a lisp, and big ass muttonchops, but he wore robes with a hood, so Reagan didn’t have to look at that God-awful facial hair unless he was right in front of her. He was… nice enough, though. Reminded her of Proctor Quinlan in a lot of ways, too bad she and the man never got along. Teagan and Ingram had always been more Reagan’s speed. Hell, she looked up to Teagan as that perverted uncle that would stand up for her even if he knew she was wrong. Only honest to God weird part about their relationship was he often flirted with her, and she back –though nothing came of it.

            Ingram was her favorite proctor. The woman had sass for days and didn’t take shit from anyone –especially Reagan, and not for lack of trying. Often it was Knight who had to get the scribes under the Order of the Shield to do their jobs when she wasn’t around. They thought that when the Proctor was away they could relax, but it always drove her nuts because Ingram did _everything_ for the Prydwen and Brotherhood. This is probably another reason Reagan and scribes didn’t get along.

            Why couldn’t this nord remind her of someone _other_ than that pretentious dick? Reagan sighed and brought her attention back to the nord holding her fusion core up from the enchanting table he’d been bent over while talking for the last half hour.

            The table looked… so nice compared to the one that Skaddi had made in the Commonwealth, but… then again that made sense.

            “… to be honest I’m surprised that the Dragonborn was able to enchant your necklaces so,” Farengar was saying as he turned back around. “She was not adept when I saw her last.”

            “She has grown much,” Argis defended with his arms folded.

            “Yes, of course, no doubt about that, what with Alduin destroyed and all. But tell me, housecarl, where is our Dragonborn now?”

            “In the other world,” he answered honestly and Farengar nodded.

            “Amazing… I should like to question you two,” he pointed to Reagan and Danse. Ever the polite one, the Paladin nodded his head and confirmed they would answer any and all questions the wizard had.

            Reagan hoped this wouldn’t turn into something like what Skaddi did for Quinlan. That nord was either sitting in that Proctor’s office telling stories, or locked away with Arthur in his quarters. Reagan didn’t know how the woman could stand being still for so long. Knight always ended up in the gym or sparring mats if she couldn’t leave the Prydwen.

            Now she was getting antsy again. They’d been in this room for hours listening to the lisping mage go on about what he was doing, giving them brief histories on Skyrim, and all the while talking to them with that too-familiar condescending tone that Quinlan used with her.

            Reagan’s stomach growled and Danse looked over at her. “Hungry? We haven’t eaten much…” he frowned. Their appointment had been late in the morning and they’d been here since. She’d only had the food that Argis prepared –eggs with slabs of pork that were pure perfection– so far today, and that had been hours ago.

            “I could eat,” she nodded.

            Lydia waved her hand for them to walk ahead of her. “We’ll go to Jorrvaskr. I have need to speak with them anyhow.”

            “All right,” Reagan started walking, allowing Lydia to lead the way while she walked beside Danse and Argis remained behind to aid Farengar as needed.

            It was… odd. Leaving behind the power armor and their weapons and not worry about them. Sure there were thieves, but after the vampire attack last night the guards were tripled, and they were on the opposite side of the city from the attack…

            Apparently vampire attacks were growing in popularity. This had been the third one in a month. Skaddi never mentioned vampires, so it was obviously something that that was recent. That was a scary thought. Of course the Dragonborn would save the world and then something else would come and threaten it in time for two people from another planet to come and get caught up in the middle of it all.

            Jorrvaskr looked like a ship had been over turned and then modified into a building, but it looked… nice. Reagan enjoyed the architectural difference from the other buildings in the city.

            Inside was a massive hall with a long fire surrounded by a table enough to seat a large squad. There were some men and women sitting in the tall-backed chairs. When they were seen, a man in silvery armor came forward. He had a black, fur kilt and a wolf’s head at the throat of his steel. His eyes were a very, very pale blue, nearly white, and he wore dark paint around them to make them pop. His arms crossed and he looked at Danse, then Reagan –seeming to take notice in their lack of armor and very _odd-_ looking uniforms.

            “What is it, housecarl? Have you news of the Harbinger?” he spoke to Lydia, returning his eyes to her. His voice was deep with a bit of gravel to it. He looked around Danse’s age and seemed to be just the same size as the Paladin. Hell, they… even kind of looked alike with short facial hair and dark hair, but while Danse wore his hair swept back from his face, this man wore his longer and parted down the middle.

            “None that you will like, Vilkas,” Lydia sighed and looked over at the soldiers behind her. “These are her friends, though, they come from the land she is currently trapped in.”

            “Trapped?” his arms fell to his side and he came closer, looking down at Lydia who stood her ground while meeting his pale blue eyes with dark grey ones.

            “Aye, but there is nothing we can do. I will explain when the Dragonborn’s friends have been fed. I see you have room at your table,” she gestured to some open seats and Vilkas glared over at Reagan and then Danse.

            “Jorrvaskr is for Companions. Take them to the Bannered Mare.”

            “Well he’s a chipper one, ain’t he?” Reagan turned to Danse who frowned at her and she smirked before looking back at a heavy, icy blue glare. “Who are the Companions?”

            “We are a guild of fighters. We take jobs throughout Skyrim –as well as other parts of Tamriel, despite the war– if the coin is good enough,” Vilkas answered.

            “So you’re mercenaries?” Danse frowned.

            Vilkas wrinkled his nose. “Mercenaries care for the coin. We care about the glory. Not all we do is paid, but we will take jobs. Even warriors must eat.”

            Reagan nodded and folded her arms. “I could get behind that.”

            Vilkas looked her over and narrowed his eyes. “You’re interested in joining?”

            “Sure? Why not?” She turned her attention over to Lydia who frowned and Danse who was narrowing his brows and eyes at her. “What? Come on, Danse, other than joining the guard, this is pretty damn close to what we did before….”

            “I don’t think now is the best time to–”

            “I don’t even know who you are. You are a friend of our Harbinger, but she is not here to vouch for you,” Vilkas folded his arms and looked down at Reagan.

            Lydia opened her mouth, but Reagan lifted a hand. “I don’t need anyone to vouch for me. Let me show you what I can do.”

            Danse stepped forward, “Reagan, don’t.”

            “Come on, I’m the best hand-to-hand fighter in the Brotherhood,” she smirked at him.

            “And Skaddi put you on your ass…” he pointed out and Reagan turned back to Vilkas.

            “Come on, let’s go.”

            Danse took her shoulder and turned her back to him. “No. Reagan.”

            She was about to object, but then his gaze flicked down to her stomach and she remembered what he’d said. She can’t be reckless anymore.

            “What of you then? If you won’t let the woman?” Vilkas waved to Danse who frowned and shook his head.

            “Come on, Sebastian, just throw him around like you do Logan,” Reagan smiled and he shook his head.

            “Rhys is horrible had hand-to-hand combat.”

            “Don’t be such a milk drinker, come on then. True friends of the Dragonborn would leap at the chance to prove themselves. You’re letting the woman stand stronger than you? Come to her level, or strive for better,” Vilkas’s taunts pulled Danse’s eyes and his fists balled up.

            “Fine. One round.”

            “Good. Follow me to the yard.”


	4. This is Gonna be Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse and Vilkas have their little tussle and then he spends some personal time with Reagan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PREGNANT SMUT!
> 
> This is Gonna be Good~The Princess and the Frog

**Danse**

            Vilkas guided them to the yard behind Jorrvaskr that was more stone than grass. There were several people training, using swords and bows on practice dummies made of burlap and hay. Everything looked well taken care of, considering, and as they stepped out from under a covered porch filled with tables and fresh food, Danse decided that this might not be the worst organization to join.

            If they joined a guild.

            Which he still didn’t think was a good decision right now.

            But Skaddi had been mentioned to be their Harbinger, someone who seemed quite important. Not so much so that it gained them leeway in the eyes of this nord. In fact, it seemed to have the opposite effect –more was expected of them now. And now they were going to have to show why they were friends of the Dragonborn.

            Danse glanced sideways at Reagan who was looking at the food, her honey eyes flicking quickly over the colors. He couldn’t expect her to change in a day. But it seemed like things weren’t sinking in for her. She was treating this place like the Commonwealth, or the Capital, not like an unknown location that could _kill_ them. She knew what she could get away with on Earth, but she didn’t seem to understand those skills did not necessarily carry over.

            Lydia picked up an apple and handed it to Reagan with a smile and she took it, grinning back.

            “Do you know the rules of a brawl?”

            Danse turned back to Vilkas and tried to recall what Skaddi had told them. He was a bit disappointed he missed the spar between Maxson and Argis, but he had… other things to worry about. “It would be best to explain them, just so we’re clear.”

            “No weapons, just you and your armor,” he explained, and lifted his fist to show the heavy steel. “Fists, feet, bodies… grabbing is fine. First one to hit the ground loses. One round means one chance to prove yourself, new blood.”

            The ex-Paladin’s lips turned down. “I’m not wearing my armor.”

            Vilkas looked him over as if he had assumed otherwise. “Where is it?”

            “In Dragon’s Reach,” Lydia answered him and the nord man’s brows tugged together in a mix of curiosity and confusion.

            Danse stood straighter. “We could spar without armor,” he suggested and Vilkas shook his head.

            “Go get your armor.”

            The ex-Paladin stiffened and put his hands behind his back, trying to keep himself at ease. “I… don’t know if you would approve of it.”

            “I need not approve of the armor you wear to battle. Get it, and return here, while you’re away we’ll have food prepared for you, and once we finish the brawl, you may eat –win or lose.”

            Danse opened his mouth and Reagan chuckled as Lydia stepped forward. “Come, Paladin, I’ll walk with you.” His attention went to Knight who was chewing on the apple she’d been given. She gave him a smile and encouraging nod.

            “Very well,” he sighed and bowed his head to Vilkas who nodded once and pulled his greatsword over his shoulder and turned to a training dummy. The weapon was huge, and heavy, and the nord knew exactly what he was doing with it, causing Danse to be glad that he had his power armor in this land.

            “One punch with a T-60 fist, and he’ll be on the ground,” Reagan smiled at him and offered him the apple. He took it and bit into it, still surprised at the taste and texture. Then looked down at her.

            “It feels like cheating.”

            “He said he didn’t have to approve of your armor, so let him eat those words,” she brushed her fingers through his hair.

            “Without the power armor he has the advantage, but with it, I do,” his tone told her that he didn’t like the odds either way. He would rather fight and the odds be equal.

            “We’ve been here a day, someone’s going to have the advantage.” She pointed out and he met her gaze. “I want to learn how to use a bow better. Skaddi… made fun of me.”

            “We’ll have plenty of time now,” he pointed out and gave her back the apple. “I’ll be right back. Please… _please_ , stay out of fights…”

            She looked like she was about to say something smart, or sarcastic, like she normally would, but her free hand touched the front of her flight suit and she nodded once. “Okay. I’ll… play nice.”

            “Thank you,” he touched her face and let his thumb skim over her freckled cheek.

            “Can I at least arm wrestle someone?”

            He chuckles and pulled her in to kiss her forehead. “No.”

            “Yes, sir,” she sighed and closed her eyes. “Now go, I’m hungry and this apple isn’t helping much,” she chuckled.

            “Yes, ma’am,” he smiled at her and she flushed. He knew she liked that. Being a knight, she didn’t hold much superiority in the Brotherhood, and only squires and initiates regularly referred to her as ‘ma’am’. He liked seeing how she reacted, grinning and blushing as it was an obvious turn on for her. Danse knew a lot of relationship related things flew right by him –they had never been important to him until now– but he was perceptive, and he could see when things he did or said had an effect on the Knight.

            With one more kiss to her forehead, he parted from her and followed Lydia back up to Dragon’s Reach.

            Argis was happy to report that the armor’s fusion cores were enchanted and that their weapons would come next. Danse took a moment to look over his armor and then at Knight’s. She wasn’t as responsible with her armor as he would have preferred, often kicking her way through situations that should be handled with more tact, but she took good care of its maintenance.

            Danse could remember one time while on a mission she and Rhys had gotten into a fistfight over how to fix the hydraulics’ leak in her right ankle. Being a mechanic with more experience, Rhys had more credibility, but Reagan knew her armor, and she had been right that time. Danse had to pull them apart –by grabbing Reagan around the waist and pulling her off of Logan who was trying to block the facial blows he was receiving.

            The ex-Paladin knelt beside her armor and opened the armor to check the fluids. Maintenance would still be an issue if they couldn’t get the correct tools and fluids to keep the suits going, even if the fusion cores never ran out.

            “What is it, paladin?”

            “It’s just Danse, or Sebastian,” he told Argis who was looking him over. “And I was simply considering all of the parts _other_ than the fusion core that keep the suits functioning.”

            “What else do you need?”

            “I could give you an entire list and I would still forget items,” Danse stood and pushed the plate back into place with his foot.

            “I will help in any way I can, Danse.”

            Farengar came forward, “We have dwemer oil as well as other ingredients you might find are similar to that of your world. There is an alchemist in the city market.”

            The soldier nodded his head, “Thank you, I will check there for supplies –hopefully before I need them.” Danse hated waiting until he _needed_ something to go looking for it. He would rather have it waiting and ready. “I should get back to Jorrvaskr, I’ll return for Knight’s power armor shortly.”

            “Take your time,” Farengar grinned and waved at him. “I am still taking notes on it. I have many questions when you have the time.”

            “Of course, I’ll do my best to answer them.” Danse climbed into his suit and moved the joints. How odd it was that he could feel the difference in this world through his power armor. It was something he thought he could get used to.

            This time Lydia remained behind to watch Knight’s armor –as more of a courtesy to him than actual necessity. The other housecarl strode beside the ex-Paladin silently until Danse finally spoke up, “What weapons are you proficient in, Argis?”

            The nord grinned, wrinkling the tattoo and scar on his face. “I find my best skills to be with a shield and sword. Though I enjoy putting both hands on my weapon, I do not feel it suits me.”

            “And Vilkas uses a two-handed sword?”

            “Aye, primarily, same as his brother, though Farkas is well known to use sword and shield as I do. They both wear the heavy armor favored by our people,” he gestured to the ex-Paladin with a smirk as they descended the stairs leading to the keep. “You would find it to your liking as well, I should think. You use those strange weapons, though… learning to fight with sword and bow will be difficult.”

            “I have no doubt about that.”

            “Your woman is strong,” Argis stated, “But she speaks with her fists. A habit that we nords also suffer from.”

            “I’ve spoken with her, she’s going to back off,” the soldier stated, and Argis stopped walking when they reached the large tree beside a shrine to a man slaying a massive snake.

            “Do not make her completely submissive. The Lady Reagan is a strong woman, a good one, and she will do well in this land. She must simply learn restraint. To pick her battles,” Argis explained.

            “Back in the Brotherhood she knew she could take on just about anyone. She isn’t afraid to try that here.”

            “Aye, and she no doubt –with training– could. But not now.”

            “She’s pregnant with our child, I don’t want her anywhere near conflict,” Danse added, wondering if the housecarl had heard yet.

            Argis nodded and turned to look at Danse. “Becoming a mother is important to them. It is something we will never understand and every woman is different. Do not treat her differently, she will turn it on herself. You want to protect her, and the baby. Do that, but allow her to be herself as well. Stand on her own, and fight her own battles like she did before. And she will step back and allow you to fight for her when she realizes she cannot win without harming herself or the child.”

            Danse was happy he had his helmet on. His mouth hung open as he listened to the nord. “It almost sounds like you have experience.”

            “I have a sister,” he shrugged. “Her man became protective when she grew pregnant. He drove her away early in her pregnancy. She was able to do all the same things she could before, but he would not allow her. She is very much like the Lady Reagan.”

            “Where is she now?”

            “She found man, one who could love another man’s child and stand beside her rather than in front of her. They live with my niece in Hammerfell.” He sighed. “I never thought my sister would marry a red guard, but her happiness is all that I care about,” he added and waved for Danse to lead the way.

            When the two men came around the mead hall, they were greeted with the sight of Reagan standing, holding a bow up, and aimed at a target with the Companions standing around watching.

            “Elbow up,” a red headed woman swatted the joint and Reagan lifted it up to the correct angle. “Breath when you release.”

            “Aye,” Reagan nodded and her fingers freed the string, sending the arrow forward, right into the burlap dummy’s head.

            “Not a bad shot, though I don’t normally aim for the nose myself,” the red head said and patted the Knight on the shoulder.

            Danse marched forward and the sounds of the armor made them all turn. Danse noticed Vilkas’s brows lift in a display of guarded surprise, and then it faded and he came forward.

            “Are you ready then?”

            “You still want to do this with armor?” Danse clarified and the nord nodded, picking up his sword and held it out to the man beside him. They were twins, sharing a face, but they were told apart from the length of their hair and how they held themselves. Vilkas was leaner than the other and stood straighter while he brother was bulky and had a slight hunch from muscle built on his shoulders. The brother also wore his hair in a thick, long mane that fell to his shoulders.

            “Aye, come on,” Vilkas turned to the yard. Danse followed and stopped when the nord did.

            “I’ll ask once more, Vilkas,” Danse breathed, his helmet distorting his voice.

            “Save your breath, new blood. I can hold my own, no matter your armor.”

            Reagan let out a laugh that she quickly stifled with a hand over her mouth. Danse looked over at her, he enjoyed seeing her smile and hearing her laugh. She just… liked to laugh when he wasn’t sure it was appropriate.

            “Very well,” the ex-Paladin turned to the nord and lifted his fists to mirror the other man.

            Vilkas nodded, “Let’s go.”

            Danse stayed still and let him come forward, throwing a hard punch with added strength with the twist of his body. The strike would have been _immensely_ painful… _if_ Danse wouldn’t have been wearing the power armor.

            Vilkas’s fist crunched as if he’d hit a wall and he let out a strangled yelp and stepped back, looking at his hand and then at the ribs he had been aiming for. Danse still hadn’t moved, and waited to see if the nord would back off, but he didn’t.

            He came forward, throwing his other fist.

            Danse turned some and let the arm of his suit catch this strike. Vilkas growled when he nearly bounced off the steel soldier this time, and Sebastian resisted sighing.

            All he had to do was knock Vilkas onto the ground, right?

            Danse stepped forward, crowding the nord, and then let his boot fall onto the warrior’s and he gave him a push to the shoulder. The soldier didn’t let his power armor crush the other man’s foot, but with it pinned he couldn’t get the stability he needed to keep from falling backwards onto the ground.

            Argis and Reagan laughed while the others went from giving shouts of encouragement to Vilkas to an uncomfortable silence. The red headed woman was the first to come forward.

            “That was quite the display –quick and efficient.” She turned pale brown eyes down to the nord who was standing up, his face flushed with anger and embarrassment. “Been a long time since someone put Vilkas on his ass.”

            “If I did not have my armor, I would not have stood a chance,” Danse said honestly, and the woman shook her head.

            “Don’t say that, you never know what you’re capable of until you’re put into the situation.” Then she bowed her head. “I am Aela –the Huntress.”

            He held his hand to his chest, “Sebastian Danse, and I assume you’ve introduced yourself to Reagan Knight already.”

            “Aye,” she turned and Reagan grinned. “She will make a fine addition, as will you if you so wish.”

            “Neither of us know your fighting style.”

            “But you do know _how_ to fight,” she pointed out and Danse nodded. “Then we will simply give you a cause.”

            He wasn’t ready for that, though, so he lifted his helmet from his head and met the woman’s gaze with an even stare. “Respectfully, I must decline for now. We’re new to this land and I don’t feel comfortable joining an organization just yet.”

            “We’ll be here, have been for centuries, when you feel the call, come speak with us,” she smiled at him, her lips spreading wider as she looked over his face.

            Danse bowed his head and turned to Vilkas. “How’s your hand?”

            “It’ll heal,” the nord said and shook it out before deciding that was a bad idea and sighed. “Next time, no armor.”

            The ex-Paladin’s lips quirked and he nodded, “I tried to warn you…”

            “You aren’t from here. Warning a nord away only makes them try harder to get in.”

            “Sounds like when you talk to a soldier,” Reagan said from Danse’s side. He looked down at her and she nodded her head over to the tables. “They have food for us.”

            “Outstanding.”

 

 

            Danse sat down on the side of the bed and started to unlace his boots. Before he even had the first one untied, Reagan was kneeling in front of him, her long, thin fingers taking the place of his thicker, larger ones. He tilted his head at her and watched as she pulled the strings apart and away from the tongue, allowing it to come forward and his feet to be freed.

            “Today was long,” she commented, her eyes following her deft hands.

            “Very…” he sighed and rested his hand on her head. “You don’t have to do this, Reagan, I can take off my own boots.”

            “I want to do it, Sebastian.” She tilted her head up so she could kiss his palm as she switched to the other boot.

            When she finished with that one she came closer to him, between his knees and slid her arms around him, her face pressed into his chest. His hand slid to the back of her head and tangled in her hair while the other rubbed her back.

            “Mmm… a little to the left… no, other left… yeah… down…” she moaned into his chest and he chuckled and kissed the top of her head, faintly taking note her roots looked lighter than the rest of her hair, though it could have been a trick of the light in the room, he hadn’t noticed earlier in the sun.

            “How do you feel?”

            “Horny.”

            Danse chuckled and shook his head, “That isn’t what I meant.”

            She pulled back and looked up at him with wide eyes, “I’m serious though. I don’t even care _what_ we do –I am just… I need something. I have never had it this bad before!”

            She climbed up into his lap, straddling him and pressed against him, her hands sliding up into his hair and she groaned when his own ran down her back and rested on her hips.

            “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, Sei,” she whispered the name she only used when they were alone.

            He liked the nickname. Normally Sebastian was shortened to ‘Bash’, but he never cared for it, and Reagan had agreed it didn’t suit him. Instead she came up with ‘Sei’ during their first time being intimate, repeating it over and over in pleasure. He came to associate it with the tone of her desire, and now… that was working in her favor.

            His hand came around to the front of her uniform and he tilted his face to catch her lips. She smiled into his kiss and started to copy him, unbuckling the throat of his flight suit then drew the zipper down his front.

            “We can do whatever you want,” he promised into her cheek. He felt better, not like he had yesterday. He’d spent most of the night thinking about… everything and had come up with the only solution that had gotten him through his past struggles.

            He’d always dealt with change like a soldier, because that’s all he could _really_ remember being. He had steps: assess the situation, determine the necessary resources for the most viable course of action, procure the resources, and then execute the chosen plan. He’d gone through those steps in his mind last night and the best course of action was to stay alive, with Reagan, and make a life here. He needed to secure a source of income and find a place for them to live, and that meant they would probably join the Companions –Argis and Lydia had told them about other guilds that Skaddi was a prominent figure in and none of them suited Danse as well as the fighters’ guild.

            Though Knight briefly joked about not minding the idea of being a member of another Brotherhood –one of assassins at that.

            Reagan shifted in his lap as she started to kiss on his neck and went for the crotch latch on his uniform. He’d been distracted and hadn’t noticed hers was already open. He shook his head and slid her off his lap as he stood up. She whimpered and gently tried to push him back down, but he kissed her lips and then down her neck and slid his hands over her shoulders and began peeling the uniform off of her. She realized what he was doing and the sounds of protest shifted to interest. His mouth drew lines down her skin from her neck to her breasts.

            The Knight had a beautiful body, and he loved touching it. He could get lost in her curves, but for now, he let his hands trace them and he buried his face into the space between the soft mounds of flesh. She laughed and her hands ran through his hair, massaging his scalp and tugging on his roots. Briefly he let his hands slide behind her to unclasp her bra. How she was able to so easily get it off herself was amazing, but she had given him instructions and shown him how she did it without looking. He did his best, but there was still some fumbling on his part that made her giggle and kiss his head.

            When the black cloth was removed, her heavy breasts fell from their upright position and she relaxed her shoulders. If she had the mind to, she could probably suffocate him with her breasts, and he’d already decided that that death was not the worst way to die. His lips spread into a smile as he sucked on the nipples, drawing out beautiful sounds from the woman pressing up against him, eager for the next part to begin.

            Reagan was impatient and rarely partook in extended foreplay. She didn’t need much to work her up to ready –especially if she was the one who was initiating the interaction. But Danse enjoyed putting her through the light torture, and took his time loving her from head to toe.

            It made her writhe and he didn’t need to do anything more than kiss and bite her. As he finished up, treating the breasts with equal affection, he lowered himself down to his knees and continued his mission, peeling her flight suit down to her waist.

            Now her stomach was exposed to him and he looked at it carefully. Light, old scars and pale stretch marks already marred her skin. Healthy as she was, she had a round belly that was soft with toned muscle under it, something few people had in the Wasteland, but growing up in the Brotherhood had provided her with the means she needed to grow up healthy, with strong bones and muscles and even a healthy layer of fat. It was unbelievably attractive, and he leaned in, kissing her from rib to navel, his tongue drawing a circle around it to make her laugh.

            “Mmm, Sie…” she tugged on his hair again and he bit her gently. “Ah… quit dragging this out…” she whimpered and he smiled up at her.

            “Turn around, love.”

            She did and her rear was held right in his face. It balanced out her breasts, so it was large and round, and he loved it. Reagan was not a small woman: when she walked, she shook; when she stood at attention, she didn’t have a thigh gap; when she sat down, and leaned forward, her stomach had gentle rolls. In the coming months, she was going to grow, and he already knew he was going to only be more attracted to her.

            Danse pulled her uniform down with her panties and leaned in, kissing her as she stepped out of the legs. Just like the rest of her, he bit and drew lines with his tongue. He had never thought he would enjoy having his face in someone’s rear like this, but he’d taken to it quickly. She had shied away in the beginning, but they’d gotten over that by their third time together.

            He slipped his fingers forward, between her legs and searched for her heat. This prompted her legs to part and she sighed, her hands moving to rest on her hip and massage her breast.

            “You love toying with me…”

            “If you didn’t like it… you wouldn’t let me,” he pointed out and thrust his fingers into her making her stagger.

            “Ah–fuck…”

            He bit her cheek before standing up, withdrawing his hand so that he could work his uniform off. By the time he was free she’d turned around and was running her fingers through his chest hair and the thick locks on his head. She kissed at his jaw and nibbled on his neck, making his eyes squeeze shut and roll back in pleasure.

            Then he sat back down how he had been before they got naked, and she took her place back in his lap. They hadn’t tried this position yet, but he enjoyed the view of her breasts and face so close to his. He could suckle on her perked nipples or kiss her swollen lips, either way, she was satisfyingly close.

            Reagan reached down between them and positioned him so she could settle down onto his throbbing length. He let out an involuntary moan as he sunk deep inside her. She was hot and moist and felt so perfect wrapped around him like this.

            Her head tipped back, pulling her chestnut hair back from her shoulders to fall down her back. “Awe, fuck, Sei… fuck–you’re so damn thick,” she growled and her hands moved to his shoulders, her nails curled and dug into him.

            He was happy that he did not disappoint her, her experience had intimidated him, but she never compared him to another man in any way, and all her words were honest and encouraging. He knew she wasn’t speaking simply to make him feel better about himself, he knew her well enough for that comfort.

            Reagan lifted off of him and then settled back down. He moaned and held her tight against his chest. She did it again, but this time she rolled her hips so he pressed against her walls and he shuddered, his fingers bent and dragged across her back causing her to clamp down on him.

            Before long, she had a comfortable pace, her hips swaying as she lifted off of him and she clamped down as she dropped. He filled his hands with her rear, helping her keep her rhythm and their lips locked together, parting only for nips and gasps.

            She pressed her forehead to his and moaned loudly, “Ah–shit, Sei.” She panted and quickened her pace. “You feel so good…” Reagan ground her hips down on him and he hissed into her neck, finding her tendon with his teeth causing salty sweat to lace his tongue. “Harder–harder, ahh,” she growled and tightened around him. Danse held her hips down and bucked his quickly up into her to give her just what she asked for. “Yeah–fuck, Sei!”

            Her words were mere hisses through clenched teeth. Another thing Danse had never thought he’d be into was dirty talk, especially some of the things that Reagan said. He had always imagined his love life being rather… normal. But Reagan seemed to awaken something in him. He loved hearing her swear now, the tone she used was the pure pleasure that _he_ was giving her, it made him feel… accomplished.

            “Ah–fuck, you make me so wet,” she groaned and rolled her hips. The ex-Paladin bit his lip as he pressed into her walls again, his head deep inside her. “You feel that? How wet you make me?” He nodded and she held his face, bringing him into a needy kiss that quickly turned to nipping teeth. “Only you, Sebastian, only for you,” she promises and he actually whined at that, looking at her face as she squeezed her eyes shut and moaned.

            With a steady grip on her ass, he pulled her back into a fast, hard rhythm that made her throw her head back and cry out loudly. He smiled and watched her as her hands moved to his neck and shoulders, pressing her breasts together. He leaned in and clung to one, sucking the nipple into his mouth. Her noises pitched higher and he freed her long enough to ask, “You like that, love?”

            “Fuck yes, I love when you suck on my tits, Sei,” she growled at him, her voice low and thick through her tight teeth. He quickly returned his lips to her erect peak and dragged his tongue over it to make her cry out. “They’re so sensitive now–oh, that feels so good… don’t stop…”

            “I won’t, love,” he promised and moved to the other when her fingers in his hair tugged him over.

            “Just think, they’re gonna have milk…”

            That made his eyes roll up, and the lids to close. The thought of her breasts yielding milk for their baby… for him….

            The soldier pulled his lover's hips closer to him and pushed up into her hard in an involuntary jerk and she yelped.

            “Gonna come inside me, hmm? Gonna come right deep in my cunt, Sei?” Reagan nipped his ear and tugged on his hair. “I love feeling you come, Sebastian. I fucking love when you’re pulsing inside me…”

            That did it.

            The ex-Paladin’s arms circled her and he pulled her as close as he could, down on him so he was as deep as he could be, and came. Her mouth found his as he groaned and she kissed and bit his lips over and over and sighed as she flexed around him. It felt so good to be in her. It felt so right to hold her here against him. His favorite of their positions were when they were face to face like this.

            Danse slid back and moved them into the bed long ways. She stayed on his chest as they settled in place and he let his fingers draw circles down her back.

            “That was amazing, Sebastian,” she whispered into his neck and he smiled.

            “I’m happy you enjoyed it, Reagan.”

            “I love you.”

            His heart leapt every time she said it, especially while they were together like this. But he didn’t feel like repeating it back suited how he felt. He loved her, but she was more than just a lover. She was his world –the only thing keeping him alive. The only reason he _was_ alive. No. ‘I love you, too’ wasn’t good enough for him.

            “You’re my everything, Reagan,” he breathed into her hair.

            After a few minutes of silence she shifted off of him. “I’m hot…” she explained when he made a questioning sound. “And I have to pee…”

            He smiled and ran his fingers through his hair while she went over to the pot on the floor. When she returned she curled into his side and he rained kisses down on her, from her sweaty hairline to her jaw, then down her neck and between her soft breasts.

            “Mmm, what’re you doing…?” she grinned at him as he worked his way down to her stomach and settled there, his face resting gently on her.

            “I just wanted to share the love,” he chuckled and she rested a hand on his head, looking down at him with affectionate, honey eyes.

            “You’re going to make a great father, Sebastian.”

            He hoped so. He really, _really_ hoped so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pregnant smut and cuddles...


	5. The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reagan gets restless and needs to get out of Whiterun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly ~The Lion King 1 1/2

**Reagan**

            The Knight woke up sweating, aching, and with the worst ‘need to pee’ feeling she’d ever experienced. Immediately she flung herself from the sweltering bed and found the pot.

            Danse sat up, suddenly awake by her quick movements, but he settled when he realized it was just her bladder causing the alarm. Then he touched his arm and frowned. “You’re sweating, are you feeling well?”

            “Just _really_ hot…”

            He kicked his legs over the side of the bed and looked at the sheets. “It was kind of cold…”

            “And that’s why I curled up against you, and took the blanket…” she sighed and rubbed her face, then cleaned herself up. “I don’t know, I just–it got hot. Okay, you’re like a furnace.”

            “I’m sorry,” he frowned and she shook her head.

            “Don’t apologize, it’s not like you can help it. Shit, Danse, you’re like, what? Two-twenty of muscle? Fuck you’re gonna let off heat like the Prydwen’s engines.”

            He tilted his head at her. “How did you sleep?”

            “Fine,” she snapped and placed her hands on her hips. “Why?”

            “You… seem irritable,” he stood up and she frowned at him.

            “I’m _not_ irritable. I’m fine. See?” she forced a smile and he lifted a thick brow at her. “ _What_?”

            Danse lifted his hands and stepped back. “I’m not trying to upset you, Reagan.”

            “You’re not upsetting me!” she shouted and he nodded and cleared his throat. Then she blinked and covered her mouth. “Oh my God, Sebastian, I’m so sorry.”

            He quirked a brow and looked her over as if he was worried to say anything. Tears burned her eyes and she shook her head. Why did she just snap at him? She’d never done that before.

            The Paladin wrapped her in a tight hug when a sob slipped out of her shaking lips. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she whimpered and sniffled.

            He was about to say something, but Reagan coughed and tried to push on his chest.

            “Ugh, you’re so hot! Why’re you so _hot_? It’s like standing next to a flame, fuck, I’m already so sweaty!” she squeezed her eyes shut and growled. Danse responded by opening his arms, freeing her of the blistering heat he’d encircled her with.

            But now he wasn’t holding her anymore.

            The tears streamed down her cheeks and she looked up at him pathetically. “Don’t stop holding me.”

            He shook his head, thoroughly confused. “Reagan, I don’t know what to do. I can’t hold you if I make you sweat…”

            Of course he couldn’t. She was being ridiculous. Why was she being like this? This was so absurdly out of character for her. A wrenching sob tore through her chest and Danse cupped her face in his hands.

            “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he met her eyes and tried to steady her. She grabbed his wrists to support herself, and took a couple deep breaths.

            “I… think it’s…” Reagan sighed and shook her head. “Damn it. Why can’t I just throw up all the time? My mom didn’t get like this when she was pregnant with me, she just threw up all over my dad. I thought I was going to… I just want…”

            Danse brushed her hair away from her sweaty forehead. “As long as you want me here, I’ll be here.”

            “Don’t leave, not matter what I say,” she squeezed his wrists and then kissed his palm.

            “I’m not going anywhere.”

            With a nod she smiled and he leaned in, kissing away a tear that rolled over her cheek.

 

 

            “I want to go outside the city. Just something quick, I’ve been sitting on my ass for the last _week_ ,” Reagan paced back and forth as Danse stood up from the power armor he’d been working on. That was only a _slight_ exaggeration. She, Danse, and Argis had come to Skyrim four days ago. She had tried to distract herself with keeping busy, but she couldn’t stand looking at the inside of these city walls anymore. The view had been nice, but now she was over it, just like she had been over the view of the Prydwen after a few days.

            Reagan didn’t do well when she was confined.

            Danse wiped his hands and then ran the back of his hand over his forehead.

            “Before you say anything, I’m not asking to go alone,” she lifted her hands. “Vilkas said they had a new recruit that has a mission in a nearby town. We won’t even be gone the whole day.”

            Danse frowned and looked down at the tools he had bought from the local blacksmith. He had more commissioned, but they wouldn’t be anything like the tools back on Earth. He rubbed the back of his neck and then sighed. “All right, Reagan.”

            A smile spread her lips and brightened her face. She immediately threw her arms around Danse and pulled him close. “I’ll be back before dinner,” she promised and he nodded.

            “I would come but–”

            “Vilkas said he wanted to talk to you,” she remembered him mentioning and he nodded. Since their little match, the two had actually become good friends, Vilkas was very interested in what Danse knew and could teach him, just the same, the nord had offered to teach them both the way of the sword. “I’m happy you’re making friends.”

            “You and Aela would get along if you would only give her a chance,” the Paladin offered and Reagan shrugged.

            “I don’t work well with other women… never have.” She looked passed him at the training yard of the Companions, noticing the female housecarl speaking with Vilkas and Farkas. “I’m barely getting used to Lydia.”

            Danse turned to see her and nodded, “She’s a lot like Skaddi.”

            “No, she’s… different. Skaddi was confident. Lydia has a shyness about her. She hesitates, just look how she speaks with Vilkas. She likes him but she won’t tell him.”

            “What?” the Paladin turned to look at her with a thick brow lifted and Reagan snorted.

            “Look at how she stands, she likes him.”

            Danse had always been praised in his perception, and now that he _looked,_ it only took a moment for him to _see_. “Ah…”

            Lydia spoke to the brothers in a way that perfectly exhibited her attraction to the older twin. She stood in front of them with a slight lean and would look often to Vilkas, even while Farkas was. Several other factors, and Reagan was nearly overwhelmed and surprised the man didn’t notice, let alone Danse.

            “I guess I don’t care to think about that,” the Paladin said and looked at her with a smile. “On another note. Something I _have_ noticed that you seem to be trying your best to hide,” he reached up and pulled out her ponytail. “When were you going to tell me you’re a natural blonde?”

            Reagan flinched and looked down at the cobblestone. “Damn it, I was hoping to find something to dye it before my roots came in….”

            “I noticed them getting lighter, I thought it might be the pregnancy, or even coming to Skyrim, but then I remembered something…” he stood in front of her, making her look right up at him. “Every few weeks when we had long missions you’d wear your uniform’s hood without me telling you. You _hate_ that hood. Now I understand you were just hiding your roots.”

            “Damn you and your special skills,” she shook her head and rubbed her face. “Yes, I’m a natural blonde. No one but Rhys knows.”

            “Rhys knows?”

            “Well yeah, kinda hard to hide if from someone you sped _all_ your time with. Logan and I…” she didn’t want to talk about him, and cleared her throat. “Anyway, he found out and gave me a load of shit for it. Otherwise, I’m surprised Michael’s forgotten, we’ve known each other since we were kids, he has to remember seeing it blonde…” her lips pursed and she wondered if she’d ever see that Lancer-Sergeant again, and if Skaddi had given him that well deserved punch for drinking her first, and only, Nuka Dark –something she’ll never get to try now.

            Danse ran his fingers through her hair and smiled. “I think you’ll look beautiful blonde.”

            “Aren’t I already?”

            “Of course,” he nodded. “So nothing will change.”

            “My mom’s hair darkened when she had me, maybe I’ll be a natural burnet by the end of this…” she placed her hand on her stomach and Danse wrapped her in a hug.

            “Either way, you’re going to stay _you_ , and that’s all I care about.”

            “Damn it you’re gonna make me cry,” she swatted his chest and sniffled. Shit like that was too much for her anymore. She could go from feeling fine to sobbing with laughs in between because someone _sneezed_. Yeah. No thank you. “I’m going to go find this new recruit and see if he’s ready to go to Riverwood.”

            “Okay, Reagan,” he sighed and kissed her forehead. “Back before dinner.”

            “Back before dinner,” she confirmed and pulled him down into another kiss, seizing his lips. “I love you.”

            “You two are my world,” he whispered with his hand on her stomach.

 

 

            “Erik the Slayer, huh?” Reagan shook her head and then tilted it at the boy sitting on his ass.

            “I thought it would–”

            “Yeah, well, you need to get a little better at fist fights if you’re going to boast a name like that. You lost a brawl to a _bard_ ,” Reagan sighed and looked up at Sven.

            The blonde was laughing and drinking, happily smiling at a young woman who wore _way_ too much makeup. She looked him over, he was just wearing clothing, trousers and a tunic, while _the Slayer_ sported heavy iron. Reagan sucked in a breath and nodded once.

            “For the Companions.”

            “What’re you doing?”

            “Just stand up and get the snow off your back,” she waved at him. They were inside the Sleeping Giant Inn, in Riverwood, no snow to be seen, but she’d picked up that ‘snowback’ was an insult to people who lost brawls. _So_ …

            Reagan lifted her fists and lowered herself into her defense crouch, ready to start a fight. She was wearing leather armor that Lydia had given her until she could get something fitted for her. It was different than the leather in the Commonwealth, she didn’t need her flight suit under it, in fact, she didn’t think she could fit her uniform under it.

            “Oi, songbird, got another Companion here. And I’m not going down so easy, mate.”

            Sven turned and looked her up and down and then rolled his eyes. “Snowback needs his woman to protect him?”

            “I’m not his woman, and _trust_ me, you don’t want to meet my man,” Reagan smirked.

            Erik stood up and coughed, “He beat Vilkas with one push.”

            Sven’s attention was snagged, and he turned to her. “Then where is he?”

            “Going to have to live with me this time, I promise not to disappoint,” she grinned and stepped toward him. He immediately lifted his fists and shook his head.

            “You’re not from here, outlander, why don’t you just go back to your own land?”

            “Wish I could, but looks like yours will have to do, mate. Now, you going to throw the first punch, or shall I?”

            Sven opened his mouth, and Reagan threw her fist into the jaw, causing him to stumble, then she moved forward and threw another into his side, then his gut, and he coughed, doubling over. Reagan smirked, stood up straight and pushed the man’s head sideways causing him to trip forward and she held her foot out. He fell right over it and hit the ground.

            “Not so tough now, hmm? Let a pregnant woman put you on your ass,” she smirked and looked back at Erik who was smiling at the downed bard. “Don’t be grinning like an idiot, you got put on your ass _by_ that guy.”

            The ‘Slayer’s’ face dropped and he swallowed before nodding and Reagan waved for him to leave. She threw one more glare over at Sven.

            “Next time we get a job to see you, better hope it isn’t me or my man accepting the coin.” The bard stumbled as he got up and kept his face downward.

            Outside, Reagan looked up at the mountains surrounding the small village. There were maybe ten or twelve buildings, including the inn they’d just come out of and the blacksmith across the road. It looked like a general goods store was up the street a little ways, also across the long smithy, and the rest were houses on this side of the river. A small island was plopped right in the middle of the rushing water and on it Riverwood had built a mill. Along with the arch that welcomed you in from the roads, there wasn’t much else of interest here. It was… quiet and peaceful, and Reagan smiled to herself before realizing Erik was staring.

            “What?”

            “Nothing, you just… act like you’ve never seen anything like this before,” he shrugged and shifted uncomfortably.

            “I haven’t,” she said honestly and then looked him over. “Give me your hand,” she took it without him actually offering it and pulled his glove off. “You have hard hands from work, but you have little skill in fighting. _So_ , that tells me you’re a farm hand, right?”

            He frowned and took his hand back, then snagged his glove from her. “I was, but I favor the life of adventuring and fighting.”

            “How old are you?”

            “Nineteen.” Reagan snorted and he narrowed his eyes at her. “You can’t be any older than I, and the Dragonborn was eighteen before she disappeared.”

            “Aye, and we both can beat your ass,” Reagan pointed out.

            He huffed and pulled his glove on. “For now.”

            “Come on, we should get back to Whiterun,” she waved for him to lead the way. He crossed his arms.

            “Don’t your remember the way?”

            “Oh, don’t start that shit,” she put her fists on her hips and narrowed her eyes at him.

            “Where did you come from?”

            “I’m not answering that until you lead us back to Whiterun,” she countered and he nodded once.

            “All right, we need to go west,” he pointed toward the arch over the road and Reagan narrowed her eyes. She didn’t remember coming from that direction. She thought they’d come over a bridge to get into the town.

            “You sure? That doesn’t sound right.”

            “We came around the mountain, remember?”

            “Ah,” she looked back over the smithy to the oversized hill in question. Erik started walking and she took another glance toward the other entrance. “Do you think I’m stupid, Erik?”

            He stopped and looked back at her. She tilted her head at him and crossed her arms. With a sigh he shook his head. “I just… wanted to visit Rorikstead before we went back. It’s less that a day west of Whiterun, we’d be back to the Companions tomorrow before midday.”

            “So you decided to trick me? And why bring me?” her brows scrunched together as she looked at him with a surprisingly disappointed stare.

            “I don’t want to go alone.”

            “What’s there?”

            “It’s my home settlement.”

            Reagan let out a long, breathy sigh, and relaxed her shoulders. She needed to go back to Whiterun. She promised Danse she’d be back before dinner –and that was implied _tonight’s_ dinner, not tomorrow. She looked the boy over and her teeth gritted together. “ _Now? Really?_ You can’t wait?”

            “We’re already a good third the way there, if we take this road,” he gestured to the cobblestone before him, “We’ll get there before sundown. I want to give my pa the coin I’ve earned. I might not be any good with my fists, but I’ve cleared out some wolves and gotten a bit of gold. I want him to know I haven’t forgotten all he sacrificed for me.”

            “ _Fuck_ ,” she growled, holding out the ‘u’ a little too long before finishing the swear. “And you don’t want to go _alone_.”

            “No…. My pa can feed you, for free, and have a place for you to sleep. And we’ll head out at first light.”

            Reagan’s teeth strained against the pressure she was putting them under. Her honey eyes locked on the path back to Whiterun. This decision would have been so much easier a month ago. She would have gone with him. Because Danse would understand.

            But now she didn’t have just herself to worry about and her hand rested on her stomach.

            “No, I’m going back,” she said, frowning at the young man.

            “Oh, well, tell them I’ll return tomorrow. Just follow that road, and turn right at the bridge, once you round the mountain you’ll see Whiterun.”

            She didn’t like that: splitting up. It felt wrong and unsafe. But the way here had been easy enough, they hadn’t seen anything on the way. Of course, Erik had been talking the whole time, but she’d distracted herself with the landscape, looking at the snowcaps on the mountains, and the crystal clear water. “Fine,” she sighed and grabbed the laser rifle off of her back and, out of habit, checked the fusion cell’s capacity before remembering it was enchanted and wouldn’t run out.

            “What is that?”

            “It’s called Good Death, and that’s all I’m telling you,” she returned it to her back and looked him over. “Good luck, don’t die.”

            “Thank you,” Erik’s red brows drew together and then he took his leave. Reagan started up the path to return to Whiterun. Alone.

            She didn’t get far before she saw something that made her stop in her tracks.

            Just passed the bridge, when she reached a road sign that pointed to the right just like Erik’s instructions, she saw something in the corner of her eye and froze. Slowly she turned and looked at it, her lips parting in shock.

            The most pure creature she’d ever seen stood before her.

            A radstag with one head, smooth, healthy fur, and long, wide antlers that weighed his head down, stood not ten feet from her. His black eyes locked on her as he seemed to take notice of her just the same. His ears flicked back and forth, listening, and he shifted, turning to face her more squarely and she allowed only her eyes to move, taking in the four –only four– healthy legs that he stood on, strong and confident, nothing like the deer she saw in the waste that were timid and shaking.

            So, so very slowly, Reagan turned to face him and stopped when he lifted his head, looking down at her from the severe height he possessed. He was beautiful, and her eyes even began to water as she looked at him.

            The Knight lifted a hand and took a step toward him. He watched her, his glassy eyes moving over each of her actions, before he took a step forward and bowed, allowing her to touch his snout. Her fingers brushed over the soft fur, and her palm rested on the cold nose.

            A wide smile spread her lips and Reagan dared another step forward, her other hand running up along the side of the buck’s face.

            “You’re amazing,” she whispered and he let out a harsh breath through his nose, closing his eyes, his ears falling back. “Oh, stop, you know you are,” she laughed and blinked a tear away. Never had she imaged she would do anything like this.

            Then his ears jerked up, snapping to the side.

            His head whipped up out of her grasp and she looked with him to see three tall figures coming up the road. They were dressed like the man from the market that attacked her. The vampire.

            And these had dogs.

            The buck mewed and then let out a bark, turning back to her and bowed his head, stomping his feet. Reagan stepped back as he threw his head, seeming to try to push her. She grabbed her laser rifle, but the deer leapt forward a step, his hooves stomping hard on the cobblestone, and she turned away, starting for the village.

            The buck was there, blocking the bridge and urged her toward the path heading up the mountain. Reagan turned and fired on the vampires, the red beams flying down the path with a familiar hum.

            A woman toppled to the ground in a sudden flash, bursting into ash when her body fit the cobblestone. The vampires beside her hesitated, and then showed their teeth at her, hissing. The black dogs rushed forward, and Reagan only had a moment to look into their glowing eyes before she sprinted up the hill as fast as she could.

            A crunch accompanied by a long, strained cry, told her the buck was hurt. A whimper from a dog meant he got some payback

            The air shifted quickly as she rounded the path which had turned to a simple dirt thing without her noticing. The wind bit right through her leather, and she blinked as she noticed the blur before her wasn’t a fault in her vision, but snow in the distance.

            Snow.

            Reagan stopped and turned back and cried out in surprise.

            She hadn’t heard him behind her, he moved silently, and he was on her before she could lift her weapon.

            A growl slid out of his bared teeth and he grabbed her neck, lifting her from the ground.

            Reagan grabbed his wrist with one hand and aimed for his head with Good Death. Just as she pulled the trigger the vampire shifted and knocked the weapon from her hand so that it fell over the cliff side, tumbling down the mountain.

            Her hand clasped his wrist and she threw her foot up into his jaw, causing his head to snap back.

            He dropped her and she landed hard on her ass.

            A hiss escaped her and she groaned, wanting to say something smart about how mosquitoes always seemed to like her more than others in her unit, but this was ridiculous.

            Only she didn’t get it out.

            A snarl cut her off and she looked at the vampire who stood frozen in front of her, his glowing eyes wide as he looked passed her, the other vampire ran up behind him and stopped, gasping.

            “Fuck me…” Reagan turned slowly and swallowed.

            The beast was as large as the elk, with fur of pale blonde, almost white, standing on end with hackles raised. Golden eyes flicked between her and the vampires, while black lips drew back to show snow-like teeth dripping menacingly. The nasal bridge and forehead were creased with twitching muscle that vibrated with the snarl rumbling from a thick chest. A long tail held stiff and bristled behind it, a slight twitch from side to side shaking it. Straight legs gave the wolf a slight lean forward and allowed it to tower over them.

            The Knight met the golden eyes and didn’t look away until the beast leapt forward and sunk his teeth deep into her shoulder, drawing out an ear-piercing scream. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun Dun DUUUUUUUN


	6. Things Are Not as They Appear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse finds out what happened to Reagan, and he's in for a surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things Are Not as They Appear ~Pocahontas 2

**Danse**

The ex-Paladin paced as the sun sunk deeper and deeper over the walls. Lydia had tried to comfort him, but he politely told her that nothing other than Reagan coming back could make him feel any better.

            He replayed her leaving in his head over and over. She said she would be back. There was nothing extra in her eyes, she _meant_ it, and she’d promised to do better. The Reagan he knew from Earth wouldn’t disobey an order unless she had a _damn_ good reason. But this hadn’t been an order, and this wasn’t the same Reagan.

            A hand on his shoulder made Danse pause, and he turned to Vilkas who frowned at him, his pale blue eyes looking him up and down. “Calm yourself. She is with the whelp, I’m sure he’s dragging her down.”

            The ex-Paladin shook his head. “No, Knight doesn’t let anyone slow her down, she’d carry him before she let him delay her.”

            Vilkas withdrew his hand so he could cross his arms. “Why so formal with your woman? Call her by name.”

            “I–” Danse started and frowned. There was little reason to call her by her last name, and no reason to call her by rank. She was his girlfriend, he was allowed to call her ‘Reagan’. She surly didn’t miss the chance to call him Sebastian. “It’s just an old habit.” He lifted a hand and wrapped his fingers around the holotags on his chest. They were hers, he had them memorized by now, even before he started looking at them every five minutes.

            _Knight_

_Reagan F._

_KN-199K_

_AB POS_

_NO PREFERENCE_

            He couldn’t express how much wearing her holotags meant to him. They acted as his translation necklace, but it was more than that, and since his had been left behind on Earth, they were another thing linking him back to his old life: before finding out he was a synth, before being brought to this land. The power armor, laser rifles, and uniforms gave him similar feelings, but the tags…

            “If she’s not here by dark, you and I will go out and look for her, aye?” Vilkas offered and Danse’s shoulders relaxed.

            “Thank you.”

            “She’s your woman, you know her well,” he shrugged. “Neither of you know the land, she could have gotten lost if the whelp split off from her.”

            Sebastian’s fists drew up causing his nails to bite into his palms, “You think he would?”

            “He’s been anxious to return to his home settlement, we’ve prevented it –you cannot grow if you stand in your family’s shadow. Riverwood is in the right direction, but an indirect route. He may have talked her into accompanying him to Rorikstead.” The nord had started walking over to one of the training dummies, and Danse followed behind him.

            “She wouldn’t… I know she wouldn’t. Not now, not without a way to tell me where she was.” It almost sounded like he was trying to convince himself more so than Vilkas. The other man simply shrugged.

            “We’ll know for sure in a few hours. For now, distract yourself with some training. You fire that magic thrower well, but you need to know how to use a sword,” he lifted up a dull, one-handed blade and tossed it over to the former Paladin.

            “All right,” he said as he caught the weapon and looked at it before turning to stand how Vilkas had previously instructed.

 

 

            “It’s hard telling what the ashes were…” Vilkas knelt beside the pile of dust, holding a torch over it so he could see anything that might give away who, or what, it was before it was destroyed.

            Danse stepped over to it and pushed his boot through it, noticing a dagger. “What is that?”

            “Steel… _very_ old…” Vilkas wrinkled his nose and sighed. “Vampire most likely.”

            The former soldier stiffened and looked around, his eyes narrowed. “They attacked the town?”

            “No, the guards would have cleaned this up by now, they haven’t even noticed it yet,” the nord stood up and dusted off his hand before gesturing to a dirt path. “That way leads to Bleak Falls Barrow, she may have run from the vampires.”

            “Why wouldn’t she have gone into town?”

            Vilkas stepped around the other man and looked at the dirt, it was beaten stiff, so tracks weren’t apparent to Danse, but Vilkas knew what he was looking for. Then he looked sideways and frowned. “They had dogs…”

            Sebastian followed him to the side of the bridge to see the corpse of a black, boney hound. The nord knelt and pulled the thick collar from its neck and handed it up to Danse. It was heavy, and he frowned at it. “What’s this for?”

            “I’m starting a collection,” the nord smirked, and circled the ex-Paladin. “Come on, she went up the hill.”

            They followed it up a ways, Vilkas kept his eyes low with the torch skimming over the dirt so he could see the subtle tracks.

            “Two followed her… she was sprinting –running on her toes. She stopped here, and struggled. One of the bloodsuckers got her. Then she ended up on her ass, something… something else is here,” he knelt and touched a mark that was larger than his hand. “Something else attacked the vampires,” he touched a dark spot in the dirt. “Attacked Reagan.”

            “Where is she?” Danse’s hands on his laser rifle tightened and Vilkas shook his head.

            “One vampire fled, the other…” he frowned and looked around before walking over to the edge of the cliff and looked down. His head tilted and he dropped his torch over the side. “Ah, there he is.”

            Danse leaned over also, holding his torch up, a broken body was lying on an outcrop beside Vilkas’s light, missing an arm, and had his head turned around the wrong way. The ex-soldier’s nose wrinkled, and then he saw the object next to the body. “Good Death.”

            “I’m not sure that’s what I’d call it,” Vilkas breathed, but Danse wasn’t listening.

            Quickly, he mapped a safe path down to the outcrop, careful so that his boots didn’t slip, and stopped only when he was kneeling beside the laser rifle.

            “What is it?”

            “Reagan’s weapon.”

            “So she is unarmed.”

            That thought sent a shudder down his spine. He felt sick. She’d been attacked, her body wasn’t here, wasn’t farther down the hill, wasn’t up on the path.... “Do you know what did this?”

            “I have a guess.”

            “And that would be?”

            There was a pause, and Danse looked up at the nord, his thick brows shoved together hard. “A werewolf.”

            It took him a second to fully understand what Vilkas just said. “A _werewolf_?”

            “Aye, a man with the beast blood.”

            “And he can turn into a wolf?”

            “Aye.”

            Danse shook his head and stood up, putting Good Death on his back beside Righteous Authority, and held the torch high so he could get back up to where Vilkas was.

            “Did the werewolf kill her?” Danse finally asked when he was beside the other man.

            His nose wrinkled and he gestured to the dark spot in the dirt. “The blood was dry, but there was not a lot. I would say only a single bite.”

            “Then where is she?”

            Vilkas hesitated and sighed, “A bite from a werewolf… it is one of two ways to spread the curse. The Companions used to share the beast blood, but we did it the safer way, through communion, but this…” he shifted and avoided looking at Danse. “It is a wild way, but it is a way. I would… dare say he saved her from the vampires.”

            “By biting her?”

            “If you have the beast blood you are immune to disease and infection, including vampirism,” the nord explained and Danse didn’t know if he should feel better or just as sick. “The beast blood won’t harm the child, and since she grew pregnant before she was cursed, the child is spared. Had she become infected with vampirism…” Vilkas tilted his head to the side, slightly, and Danse didn’t need him to finish the sentence.

            “So the werewolf… is an ally?”

            Vilkas’s face twisted into an unsure expression. “I wouldn’t say _ally_ , not until we find them.”

            “Where do we start?”

            “Back in Whiterun, the snow has hidden the path, and we’ll need a mage to cast clairvoyance if we can’t find any tracks.” He started back down the hill but Danse stood his ground.

            “I’m not going to just go back, not now. You said there was a Barrow up there?”

            “Aye, used to be filled with draugr, then the Harbinger went through it, slaughtered everything –bandits no doubt took it over shortly after.” He rolled his shoulders. “We can check it, but I doubt we’ll find them there. If Reagan took the change, like I assume she did, then they’re long gone. She would have turned, her beast taking over. Her beast does not know you, or this land since you are not from here. We can only hope he stayed with her, otherwise when she wakes she will be alone and lost.”

            Danse thought he was going to fall over. He needed to steady himself, so he bent forward and placed a hand on his knee, shaking his head. “And you _can_ find her?”

            “Aye, just takes time.”

            “Then we’ll go back to Whiterun. I want to find her as soon as possible,” he straightened and handed his torch over to Vilkas.

            “Slow your breathing. We’ll find her, Sebastian.”

            Danse nodded once and swallowed hard, forcing himself to breathing through his nose to keep it steady.

 

 

            The sun was rising, and Danse paced the length of the bridge outside Dragon’s Reach. Vilkas, Lydia, and Argis stood by the door, waiting patiently while he wore a path along the old wood. He decided to wear his power armor because… well he felt better in it. He planned to scrub the paint off, or paint over the insignia and rank when he had the time, but now all he could think about was Reagan out in the world, unarmed, and _cursed_.

            Vilkas had told him about the beast blood, explained it, how Skaddi had been when she took it, and how she cured them all. The way the nord spoke of the Dragonborn, Danse could tell there was a little more than respect there, but he said nothing, and kept the thought pushed back. Reagan had always been far more interested in the relationships between individuals, while he preferred to keep his mind focused on facts and Intel.

            This was different. He wasn’t waiting for orders, he wasn’t waiting for his report to be filed, he was waiting for the keep to accept visitors so that they could convince Farengar to help them find Reagan.

            “A court wizard will not leave…” Lydia said almost softly enough that Danse missed it.

            He acted like he hadn’t heard it, though, and continued his march, focusing on the sound of his power armor, listening to the hiss of the joints, and the glide of pistons. It was irresponsible, knowing he wasn’t going to be able to maintain the suit, and wasted valuable resources on walking twenty yards back and forth, but he couldn’t help it. The armor did so much for him. It was the one thing, the _one thing_ that didn’t change.

            It was his power armor, he’d bought the damn thing with the caps he earned. The Brotherhood had sold it to him, but it was _his_. His holotags weren’t the same, his name, his blood type, sure, but he didn’t know about his belief, and his registration… well someone else probably had his number by now. And Reagan? Well, she was different now, too, in a good way –pregnant with his child, something he still didn’t _fully_ register.

            Even _Danse_ had changed, though.

            He’d lost _everything_ : his rank, his job, his family, his home, his _world_ … his self.

            He couldn’t remember passed Jason Cutler and Rivet City, not really. He never got close to anyone, not like he was with Reagan now, so no one had ever asked him about his childhood. Cutler hadn’t either, it seemed to be a topic they both avoided; only ever talking about the future….

            Had Cutler known he was a synth? Had… Cutler been involved with it?

            Danse stopped in his tracks and frowned, staring at the ground as he thought about that. Jason had been his best friend, his _only_ friend. He’d–

            The doors opened and the nords behind Danse stepped away from the wall to enter. The ex-Paladin followed in behind, trying to keep his thoughts in order of priority. Lydia was most likely right, the probability of a court mage just dropping everything to help them was likely similar to asking a Proctor the same thing.

            Five minutes later, and Danse had confirmation he and Lydia were right.

            “I cannot abandon my duties to pursue a woman, even a woman as valuable as the lady Reagan Knight. Now, if you were both missing, then my research would suffer, and I would consider it, but I have other obligations to which I must attend,” Farengar didn’t look the least bit apologetic as he spoke, and he maintained steady eye contact with the towering, power armor wearing former soldier.

            “You won’t help us until I’m missing?” Danse asked for clarification.

            Farengar smirked at that and shrugged his shoulders. “You are more cooperative than your woman anyhow. I would be more inclined to aid her in searching for you, than I am now with her acting as the missing party. Besides, if she has the beast blood, she will most likely be feral, I suggest you forget about her and move on.”

            All of his military training told him to brush off what he said, get to the meat, let the insults go, and keep a level head. But he wasn’t a soldier anymore, and the way that even Argis and Lydia shifted in his peripheral told him he wasn’t over reacting when he allowed his face to twist into anger and his armored fingers to curl into fists. “You would have me leave her to the elements without even _attempting_ to find her?”

            “Yes, if that is the only way you’ll understand. I was under the impression you were more intelligent–”

            The court wizard bounced off Danse’s steel knuckles and hit the ground with a thud and yelp. Then Sebastian marched forward and grabbed the man by the robes. He could see his face, the split in his cheek and the blood that trickled down into the long hair on the sides of his cheeks. “You have severely impaired your research now. I will not help you, nor give you further information on my homeland until Reagan is found.”

            “She won’t be the same woman. The beast blood changes people.”

            “I don’t care! I have to find her, and I will!” The ex-Paladin dropped the mage back to the ground and turned to the housecarls and Vilkas. “What’s our next move?”

            “We have to find someone who knows how to use magic and is available to help,” Lydia frowned, her dark eyes resting on the wizard as he helped himself up. None of the nords went to him.

            “Such as?” Danse asked with a little more bite than he meant. His anger was boiling over: he needed results _now_.

            “The only place I can think to go is the College,” Lydia frowned. “Not many friends of Skaddi know magic outside of Winterhold.”

            Argis folded his arms. “The Pale is a three day journey.”

            “To someone who will make our search shorter,” she pointed out and Vilkas huffed.

            “It would be quicker if one person took a horse and retrieved a mage.”

            “What if Reagan is in the Pale?” Lydia offered. “She could be anywhere.”

            “She would have moved west if anything–”

            “Then why are we going northeast?”

            “ _Stop!_ ” Danse bellowed and the others all froze, looking up at him. “I’m not just going to _sit_ here while she’s out there. _I_ will go to Winterhold and get a mage if that’s what it’ll take. You’re welcome to join me, but I refuse to sit idly by while the reason for my existence, and my _child_ are lost in an unknown land.”

            “I’ll go,” Argis said, and Vilkas nodded, stepping forward.

            “Aye, so shall I.”

            “I will stay, if you wish. Should the lady Reagan return, and to keep your belongings secure,” Lydia said, her gaze flitting to the other two before returning to Danse.

            “It’s tactically wise to keep at least one familiar face here,” he agreed, and nodded. “We move out as soon as we get the gear we need.”

            “Aye,” Argis was the first to start moving.

 

 

            Vilkas pulled the strap into place and took a step back, tilting his head as he looked Danse over. “I think it suits you, we’ll get something better when we return.”

            The taller man shifted in the heavy armor, his attention immediately brought down to the steel and fur plating his chest and spiking on his shoulders. “It’s simple,” he said, though not because he was disappointed. So much of the armor he’d seen from this land was… complicated. Spiked, decorated, flashy. This was… steel and fur. He liked it.

            “Aye, cheap too, I think you’ll come to prefer dwarven, or even ebony. For now, this will keep you alive. Just keep back and use your magic thrower and allow Argis and I to deal with any head on enemies.”

            “Affirmative.”

            Vilkas gestured for Danse to lead the way, and they headed out of Jorrvaskr to meet Argis at the stables where he would be getting them a cart. “We will need to stop in Windhelm no doubt. The road to Winterhold is barren, and we will need more supplies before we can cross the Pale.”

            “How long will that take?”

            “We should reach Winterhold in three days –as long as the cart doesn’t suffer delays.”

            Danse nodded and tried to keep from thinking about what could go wrong in three days. They had _no_ idea where Reagan was, or if she was even alive. Vilkas told him he was sure she made it through her transformation, but he had no comfort for after. Her armor would be tattered and destroyed, and she was unarmed. If the wolf that bit her wasn’t with her, then she could very well be–

            The thought was cut off by the echoing cry of a creature Danse had never seen.

            A shadow flashed across the city, and the ex-Paladin froze, looking up at the lizard that shot across the sky. It looked faintly like a deathclaw, but was longer, and rather than had arms, it had wings stretched out far and wide to allow it to glide over Whiterun.

            A horn bellowed and the guards immediately poured out onto the streets with bows and swords drawn. Danse looked over at Vilkas who seemed to have forgotten about him and their current objective in favor of the beast circling above them.

            The former soldier grabbed his laser rifle and aimed, leading the dragon how he would any moving target, judging where it was going, and fired before it was lined up, allowing his target to fly right into his shot.

            Red beam after red beam fired in quick succession, and the dragon cried out. Faltering in his flight, the wyvern dove and hit the roof of a house, falling right down into the main road from the gate to the town center.

            Danse adjusted his aim and continued to fire, a little awkward because of his armor, but he managed, and watched as the lasers burned into the grey scales. It opened its mouth and sucked in a breath, Danse stepped forward, his weapon held steady, but Vilkas threw himself into the ex-soldier in time to knock them both out of the way as frost and snow rolled out of the dragon’s mouth with enough force to flash freeze what guards it didn’t knock over.

            His eyes snapped wide and he looked over at the Companion that had saved him only to see him smiling widely. “It’s not the bite you have to look out for, Brother.”

            That word stopped Danse’s heart, and he couldn’t do anything but stare at Vilkas as he stood and traded his bow for his great sword.

            “Just going to sit there? Let another claim the kill?” then he was off.

            Danse stood back up and grabbed Righteous Authority from the ground and watched as the dragon crawled forward with broken wings. It had a long neck, spiral horns, and bared teeth. It growled, the sound vibrating its body as it snapped at those close to it and flung its tail around to knock anyone it could away.

            Vilkas was fast, hacking at the dragon’s leg and wing, but managed to throw himself out of the way as it whipped out to hit him. The Companion had to be around Danse’s age, and he moved with more vigor. It made Danse almost feel… sluggish and old.

            Sebastian readied his rifle and sidestepped into the road to get a clear shot at the dragon’s face. The soft of its inner mouth, and even the eyes were good targets –but the latter were small and hard to hit.

            Numbers overwhelm, though, and with all of the city guard shooting arrows –even though most bounced off the hard scale plates of the wyvern’s back– or hacking at any bit they could reach with their sword, Danse’s laser fire may not have done much on its own, but it helped.

            The dragon glared at the man before it, and crawled forward on crippled limbs, its chest expanding as it sucked in a final breath through burning nostrils. Its gaping maw was wide enough Danse could see right down its throat, the duel entrances, and watched ice flooded from one, riming its tongue, and Danse took the shot.

            The red beam flashed true, directly into the back of its throat, stopping the ice before it left the barrier of its teeth.

            The wyvern toppled forward and Danse took a single step back to keep it from hitting him.

            A smile spread over his lips, and he looked up to find Vilkas as he put Righteous Authority back in place.

            The carcass settled and took on a faint glow, drawing the ex-Paladin’s eye.

            Red light outlined the scales, and a deep crackle sounded within the beast’s body. The guards started backing away from the it as if they hadn’t expected it to do this. Danse felt… frozen in place.

            He didn’t move as he watched the scales peel and turn to ash, leaving behind only bone. The ash drifted up into the sky, ascending like smoke from a flame, while the light that instigated the reaction swelled in the center of the ribcage.

            The crackling had turned to a continuous burn, though there was no fire, and he could not look away from the spectrum of light swirling around until it flashed and overtook him.

            Warmth and a scent he’d never smelt before engulfed him, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. But it was over too quickly, leaving his body light, energized, and _powerful_.

            Danse looked at his hands, a faint glow fading from his skin, but lingered in the veins of his exposed wrist. He hadn’t felt this good in… years. It felt like the first time he’d stepped into power armor, like when he’d been promoted to Knight or Paladin, or even when he joined the Brotherhood.

            He felt… _right_.

            Vilkas ran up to him, stopped, looked at the dragon, and then shook his head.

            Danse smiled as he looked at the Companion. “What was that?”

            “You… consumed its soul.”

            “Is that normal?” Sebastian asked, noting the confusion on Vilkas’s face.

            “Only the Dragonborn can take the souls of dragons.”

            Danse blinked and looked at the dragon’s skeleton, then down at his hands, watching the light fade away, and with it, the last of his euphoria. “I’m… _Dragonborn_?”

            “Aye, it seems that way…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that, my friends, was the plan all along... >u>


	7. Plotting a Pixie's Plight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reagan wakes up, she feels fine –for the most part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plotting a Pixie's Plight ~Peter Pan

**Reagan**

            Reagan let out a groan and touched her head. A splitting headache was bouncing around her brain, throbbing mostly in her frontal lobe, but down near her neck as well. Her ears were stinging, a ringing starting to fade to the overwhelming sound of high-pitched bird chirps, and lapping water. Her body shuddered from the bite of a chilling wind, and she opened her eyes only to snap them shut again when the bright sun burned her.

            As she tried to get up, she sucked in a breath through her nose and regretted it. Smells so overpowering actually knocked her back down to the ground. Her back hit cool dirt, and she realized she wasn’t dressed. Her skin creased with gooseflesh, and she forced herself to open her eyes and look around to see where she was.

            When the glare subsided and the tears stopped burning, she could see she was on a frozen bank, it was early morning, and the sun was hidden in the mist that hovered over near stagnant water. Her nose wrinkled at the smell of the marsh, she couldn’t name all the scents, but as a collective, it was disgusting.

            Her attention shifted around and she noticed a pale bag lying on the ground not far from her. Other than that, she was alone and had no supplies. Swallowing, she started to get up again. There was a taste in her mouth that she didn’t recognize, it was… almost like she’d had a steak, but it wasn’t a good one and the aftertaste left her wanting to gag.

            The knapsack had a book, a couple of colorful potions, her translation necklace, small metal tools, and a coin purse. She picked up the necklace and started to put it on.

            “Ah, I see you’re awake.”

            Reagan jumped and hit the ground on her hip, hard enough to hurt, but she barely noticed. The man standing in front of her distracted her from that. He was huge, probably larger than Argis or Vilkas, but he had the nord look to him. His hair was blonde, but more golden than the housecarl’s, and looked thicker. He had a longer beard too, shaved smooth from his ear to his chin, but his mouth was circled with dense hair and two braided locks hung down with decorative beads on the end.

            His face was angular with prominent cheekbones and shallow cheeks. A straight nose had a subtle bump on the bridge, telling her he’d broken it at least once –she had the same giveaway. His eyes were silver and deep set under brows that were darker than his hair, more golden-brown.

            He was… quite attractive, and was politely keeping his gaze on her face as she lied on the ground before him. She crossed her legs and let an arm cover her breasts, though, modesty finally setting in. “Who are you?”

            “The man that saved you from those vampires.” He went to the knapsack and knelt, picking through it, and then lifted a red vial. “How are you feeling? Sick? Hurt anywhere?”

            Her eyes narrowed at him. “I’m fine: just have a headache, and everything’s so loud, and this place smells like shit.”

            He chuckled and nodded. “That’s on you, I wouldn’t have stopped here personally, but that’s where you fell out.”

            “Where I fell out? I don’t remember anything passed running from those bloodsuckers. Who the hell are you and where the _fuck_ are we?” she growled and stood up, looking down at him.

            His silver eyes flicked down to the spot on her hip that was going to bruise and then offered the red tonic again. “I am Thorbjorn, son of Torjar Golden-Hilt –may he rest in peace."

            “Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Reagan asked with a lifted brow. Vilkas had just given his name, not like this man, and even Argis was just ‘the Bulwark’, so this stood out a little to her.

            His brows pulled together and he stood up, towering over her again. “You’re not from here. I could smell it on you…. Where do you hail from?”

            “None-ya,” she shrugged and grabbed the potion from him and uncorked it. The red liquid slid down her throat almost like cough syrup and she prepared to gag. But she didn’t, she… actually liked the taste. Strange, she hated cough syrup.

            “I’ve never heard of that land”

            She actually laughed at that and looked him over. He wore what looked like _old_ armor, even to her untrained eyes. “You wouldn’t, I was being sarcastic, ‘None-ya business’… it’s a joke from where I come from.”

            He nodded and smirked. “I understand you do not trust me, but you have nothing to fear from me. I saved you and your child,” he gestured to her torso and she looked down at her stomach.

            “Why?”

            “I smelled your fear… I was going to let them have you, but your scent carried that of a mother. Had the vampires infect you and you survived their attack, your child would have been lost to their infection.”

            “You keep saying you can _smell_ me?” she turned her head, giving him a skeptical look.

            “Aye, you do not remember the wolf that saved you? Bit you? That was me.”

            Reagan opened her mouth and then stopped, her hand flying up to grab her shoulder. She felt nothing so she looked down at it. Nothing but a pale mark where teeth had torn into her flesh. “You… what are you?”

            “A werewolf.”

            Her heart hammered and she shook her head, “So… you turned _me_ into one?”

            “Aye, to save your child, and you. You cannot grow ill while a wolf, which means you are immune to the vampires–”

            “Where’s the cure?”

            “What?”

            “How do I cure it? And you _better_ not say that there isn’t one or so help me, I’ll rip your head off,” she growled and he took a step back, hands lifting.

            “I do not know a cure. But I can help you control it–”

            Reagan threw her arms up and looked around, trying to decide on a direction. In the distance, she saw a city. She just needed clothes and… gold. She stooped and grabbed the knapsack and threw it over her shoulder and started walking. Thorbjorn leapt in front of her.

            “What’re you doing?”

            “I’m going to find Danse, and my friends.”

            “Danse?” his brows pulled together and Reagan sighed.

            “The father of my child.”

            “Your husband?”

            “Well, fiancé is a bit closer,” she shifted and cleared her throat. He nodded once and sighed.

            “I can’t recommend you see him until you’ve got full control of your beast.”

            “Why’s that? Afraid I’ll kill him? I’d never hurt Sebastian.”

            His expression grew sad and then he nodded once, “I said the same thing about my Neriasa. She and her family rest with mine because of my stupidity.”

            Reagan opened her mouth to say something smart, but she stopped and looked down between them. Hot tears welled up in her eyes and she bit her lip. “Why did you do this? Really? I don’t believe this bullshit about saving me because I’m pregnant.”

            “It’s true.”

            She shook her head and then rubbed her face. “Whatever. I need clothes, I’m going to catch pneumonia or something.”

            “You can’t, you’re a wolf.”

            “Oh, that’s comforting, I’ll just _freeze_ then.”

            Thorbjorn didn’t have anything to say to that and simply nodded. “I’ll get you clothes, now, give me that,” he took the bag from her and then started walking, circling a thicket on a hill to a horse. “This is Ysmastaag, he’s been with me through a lot,” he grabbed the horse’s reins and pulled him close. The stallion bowed his huge head to press it into Thorbjorn’s and then he turned to look over at Reagan as she approached.

            “I’ve never seen a horse… uh, like him before,” she cleared her throat. He was massive, thick with muscle and had an abundance of fur around his hooves –which looked to be about as large as her head. His coat was chestnut with black socks matching his cropped mane and tail. “He’s beautiful.”

            “Oh, don’t let him hear you say that he’s already got a big enough ego,” Thorbjorn chuckled and grabbed the stallion’s ears as if to keep him from hearing. The horse threw his head playfully and let out a happy sound that made Reagan smile.

            “What happened to the deer that I was with?”

            “Deer?”

            “Yeah, there was a big deer, about as big as Ysmastaag…”

            Thorbjorn’s brows drew together. “I didn’t see a deer.”

            “Oh, I guess the vampires got him,” she frowned and brushed her fingers through her hair. “Okay, well, whatever, I’m cold.”

            The nord nodded and went to the saddlebags and pulled out a cloak. “Here, this will have to do until we get to Solitude.”

            “Solitude?”

            “Aye, that city there,” he gestured and Reagan nodded, taking the cloak so she could wrap it around herself.

 

 

            “Stand close to me unless you want to be mistaken for a whore.”

            “Oh, jee, thanks,” Reagan snapped and shifted into the nord’s side.

            The guards were different here than at Whiterun, no tax seemed imposed on none-nord races, but they weren’t kind. One made a pass at Reagan, but her glare shut him up. Thorbjorn circled an arm around her and led Ysmastaag with the other. She was going to push him away, but noticed the way some of the women were looking her over, and decided it was probably best not to look like she was waiting for the nord to pay her before he could touch her.

            They came to a store that sold fine clothing, and he tied his horse up outside and headed on in, urging her along beside him. He didn’t even seem to think that anyone could come up and take Ysmastaag, _or_ anything in his saddlebags. She would never leave her power armor just sitting around like that.

            A woman who stood taller than Thorbjorn came forward. Her skin was golden and her eyes narrowed, slanted high, and green from duct to corner. Her features were pinched, and she looked like she’s just sucked on a lemon. “Hello, what can I do for you today?”

            “Just some traveling wear for the lady,” Thorbjorn waved and the woman turned her attention over to Reagan who felt rather small between the two of them. Damn, she was five foot ten and she had to look up at both of them.

            “Hmm, are your measurements?”

            “I’m a, uh, I don’t know,” she coughed and the woman’s arched brows descended and she sighed.

            “I will need to measure you then.” She shot the nord a narrowed gaze. “I hope she’s worth the cost.”

            To her surprise, the man’s nose wrinkled and he shook his head, “Keep to your work, elf, you aren’t paid to judge your customers. I’m sure there are other tailors on this road alone. Perhaps I’ll visit a nord owned one, hmm?”

            “Ts!” she spat and flipped her wrist. “A disgrace, I’ll dress her.” Then she waved for Reagan to cross the room out of Thorbjorn’s sight.

            Near an hour later Reagan was squeezed into a fine belted shirt with riding pants and high boots. She stepped out and Thorbjorn looked her over and gave her a nod. “You look nice.”

            “Thanks,” she said stiffly and crossed her arms, her attention flicking to the high elf as she went to the counter.

            “I assume the man will be paying.”

            “Aye,” the nord joined her to pay, and the Knight turned her attention to the wares that were sitting out. There were some fine dresses on fancy mannequins and one caught her eye.

            It was a white thing with red trim and a long red cap falling to the ground to make a pool of crimson velvet. On either side were more modest dresses; all three faced the windows to look out at the street.

            “That’s a wedding dress,” the woman called from behind her, and then more softly, “Doubt you’ll be needing one.”

            Thorbjorn huffed and joined her by the door, and quickly noticed the tears rimming her eyes. “What is it?”

            “Nothing, let’s just leave. I want to see Danse,” she pushed passed him and went outside. The smells were near overwhelming, pleasant scents from the market mixed with the stench of the streets and waste dumped from the houses. She shuttered and walked over to Ysmastaag and tried to fill her nose with his scent. As a horse, it wasn’t the best, but it surprisingly cleared her head some.

            “You’re going to have to keep your emotions in check,” the nord touched her shoulder and she flinched away.

            “Really? Telling the pregnant lady to keep control of her emotions?” she snapped and bared her teeth at him without noticing. He shifted, and she could imagine him as a wolf, his ears folding back as he gave her that same expression. She felt something inside her shift, and her anger only got worse. The scents around her became clear, and she went from being overwhelmed to sorting through it. “I’m hungry.”

            “Of course,” he untied Ysmastaag and they headed for the market.

            “I’m fine around these people, why can’t I see Danse?” she frowned at the nord and he nodded.

            “You’re fine now because your beast is weak. By the time we get back to Whiterun it’ll be strong, and it’ll be itching to take over. Until you can control it, you’re a danger to those you love.”

            “Is that what happened with your girl?”

            Thorbjorn’s face twisted and he shook his head, “Let’s not speak of this here. Our kind is not exactly welcome in the cities. If they find out, we’ll be hunted.”

            “How can you tell that someone’s a…?” she frowned and he smirked at her as they approached a fruit stand and he brought some apples. She took a red one and they headed to the next stand: bread.

            “It’s hard, except for one thing,” he leaned down to look her right in the face and she paused. “All wolves have silver eyes, but not all with silver eyes are wolves.”

            She opened her mouth and then shut it. All wolves had silver eyes? So hers would be….

            Thorbjorn noticed her distraction and bought something at the stand, then turned to her and held up a soft, fluffy mound of bread with white glaze. It looked sort of like a mountain, but was hollowed out with a flat top. “Here, have a sweetroll.”

            She was going to object, but took it and bit into it, immediately freezing as the sugary bread landed on her tongue. “Oh… my God…” she breathed and looked up at him. He lifted a brow and chuckled.

            “That good? I always liked the ones in Whiterun better, I think the salt from the sea makes it into everything here,” he frowned and picked up a loaf of bread and tucked it into his knapsack and they moved on to another stand. When Reagan finished with the sweetroll, she moved on to the apple and took control of Ysmastaag’s reins while the nord brought them enough meat and vegetables to last them until they made it to another city.

            “Where will we go?”

            “I have an estate in Markarth, we’ll stop there and get you some armor –I know the smith. The Reach is also a good place to learn to control your wolf: when you’re able to wander the streets during a full moon, you’re safe to be around your man,” Thorbjorn explained while he packed his saddlebags.

            “I have to contact him,” she said, her hands running over the stallion’s muzzle and nasal bridge. He seemed to like the attention.

            “We will find a courier and you can write him. I don’t suggest you tell him where you are, if he learns, he’ll come looking for you and that defeats the purpose of keeping you apart,” the nord frowned.

            “How will he get a letter back to me?” she breathed and he sighed.

            “We have to get moving, come, there should be a courier by the keep.”

            Reagan wrote up a letter as quickly as she could. Thorbjorn read over her shoulder and glared slightly. “What?” she scowled up at him.

            “What language is that?”

            “Uh… English?” she lifted a brow at him and he stared at her.

            “English?”

            Then she remembered her necklace. He must not have known…. The knight nodded and turned her attention back to it, “It’s our mother tongue.” Then she finished up the letter with a smile. “Always wondered how one would write with those quills, I prefer pens, personally.”

            His brows drew closer, puckering the space between them. “Where are you from?”

            “What happened to your woman?” she lifted a brow and he pressed his lips together and nodded.

            “Very well,” Thorbjorn gestured to the courier who was standing awkwardly nearby.

            “Here,” she folded it up and the young man took it. “He should be in Whiterun, can’t miss him, Sebastian Danse. He’ll be with the Companion Vilkas.”

            Both Thorbjorn and the courier blinked at that. “With Vilkas? Aye, I’ll find him then,” the boy sighed and tucked the letter into his satchel. Then he took off, jogging at a comfortable pace into the crowd.

            “What was that about?”

            “Vilkas is well known, if he’s with your man, then the courier will find him.”

            “Well known? He seemed like a bit of a dick, honestly,” Reagan smirked and Thorbjorn shrugged.

            “He is acting as the Harbinger of the Companions in place of the Dragonborn, and–”

            The earth quaked, causing them both to stagger. The air filled with a thunderous sound that faintly resembled a voice. Reagan held onto Ysmastaag’s reins to keep him steady as he threw his head and screamed, startled by the sudden disturbance and she looked over at Thorbjorn when it stopped, only lasting a moment.

            “What the hell was that?”

            “The… Grey Beards. I heard that before,” he looked over at her his face showing confusion. “They’re summoning the Dragonborn.”

            “Skaddi’s back?” her brows lifted and he looked her over, seeming surprised she knew who the Dragonborn was. She frowned, ignoring him, though, thinking about why Skaddi would come back. It’d only been five days, had she defeated the Institute? How did she get back? Or was this another Dragonborn? Skaddi couldn’t be the only one, but she’d never mentioned it before….

            Reagan turned back to Thorbjorn and he pulled on Ysmastaag’s reins. “We have to get to Markarth. This is sure to cause a stir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And for those of you who aren't tracking. Five days after Reagan and Danse were sent to Skyrim, Arthur saved Skaddi from the Institute. Also five days after arriving, Danse learned he's Dragonborn. So, I wonder who they're calling? Probably Danse since we didn't hear the Grey Beards in the first book, hmm? Or did we? >u> how close you all been paying attention? Where was Reagan when Skaddi looked at the map? That should tell you who the Grey Beards are talking to.


	8. Almost There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse gets some guy time on the road with Argis and Vilkas. It's not all sunshine and rainbows, though, especially when they make it to Windhelm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost There ~Princess and the Frog
> 
> I should apologize for the delay, but I have no good excuses, this chapter syphoned all my creativity for the last week xD  
> Hope it's a good reboot chapter!

**Danse**

            Just over six days in this land, and Danse _still_ didn’t know squat about how things were done here. They were about to pass into Eastmarch, which was under the command of Ulfric, the High King, but he was the Jarl…

            And a jarl was like a king…

            But not.

            Wincing, the former soldier looked up at the nords beside him on the cart. Vilkas was looking around, pale blue eyes ready while Argis seemed to be trying to fall asleep. It was peaceful, but he couldn’t shake the creeping fear crawling up his spine. In the Commonwealth and Capital Wasteland there were constant threats, and here there… weren’t.

            He could see for miles in all directions and make out deer and mammoths in the distance. _Mammoths_. He’d heard of them, how they were long, _long_ dead, before the war, before people even had cars or guns. But here they were, in mass and healthy.

            And Argis and Vilkas just acted like they saw this all every day.

            Because they did.

            Danse frowned and sighed. This was home now, for all of its beauty and danger and mystery. The distant mountains, the lush foliage, the teeming wildlife, and the magic that made this world so different from the one he came from.

            “What is it, Sebastian?”

            Danse glanced over at Vilkas who was looking him up and down. “Thinking. This power,” he flexed his fingers, “Being Dragonborn. It shouldn’t be possible.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “I’m not… human,” he said and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The armor pressed against his stomach, but he ignored it.

            “You look human to me,” Vilkas said and Argis shifted, turning so that his good eye could see the former Paladin’s face.

            “I’m a synthetic creation meant to look human,” he said and kept a steady lock on Vilkas’ expression. The nord simply lifted a brow.

            “Do you breathe?”

            “Yes,” his face contorted.

            “And eat?”

            “Yes…”

            “And shit?”

            Danse sat up and Argis chuckled. “Aye he does.”

            “Sounds human enough to me, if you ain’t mer or beast, you’re human.” The nord shrugged and leaned back against the cart. “Besides, the Dragonborn can be anyone. Man… mer… beast,” he pushed his satchel over with his boot and then grabbed an apple as it rolled out. “If it talks, it can be a Dragonborn. So don’t go doubting yourself, it’ll only hold you back.”

            The ex-soldier stared at the dark haired nord as the blonde closed up the bag after retrieving his own snack. “Why me though?”

            “You’re asking us?” Vilkas laughed and took a thick bite from the fruit. Then he wiggled a gloved finger up to point at the overcast sky. “Ask the gods. Akatosh is the one who bestows the gift upon a mortal.”

            “The… gods?”

            “Aye, depending on who you ask, there’re either eight or nine divines,” Vilkas shrugged and Argis straightened up, swallowing his mouthful too soon so that it hurt on the way down.

            “With High King Ulfric in rule, it is nine.”

            “Skaddi didn’t mention them from what I remember,” Danse frowned.

            “That’d be because the lass didn’t grow up with them,” Vilkas shrugged. “She came from Solstheim, across the sea north’a Morrowind. Her people, the Skaal, worshipped one god, the All Maker,” he explained and Argis leaned forward, eyes narrowed.

            “How do you know all of this?”

            A smirk played on the Companion’s lips and he took another bite from his apple, “We had a lot of alone time, housecarl.”

            Argis’ jaw went tense and Danse cleared his throat, “But this Ulfric believes there are nine gods?”

            “Aye,” the Companion nodded and Argis took a calming breath.

            “The ninth is Talos, and he was added later, causing his… true godly status to be questioned. In short, the high elves of the Aldmeri Dominion signed a peace treaty with the Empire to end a war and the elves took Talos from us.”

            Danse let out a grunt and shook his head, “Freedom of religion was one of the pieces that made up the foundations of the country I come from. Er, rather… before the war that… destroyed it.”

            Vilkas lifted an eyebrow but didn’t ask. Argis shifted in his seat and looked up and over at the carriage driver who was whistling a tune Danse didn’t know. “You’re from a whole different world, Sebastian, the rules here are different.”

            “Aye, you’re just as likely to get stabbed on the road as you are eaten by wolves,” Vilkas inclined his head toward a nearby hill with a cliff face. On it were four massive hounds with dark fur, and a fifth white as snow. The white one stood with its head lifted and pale eyes locked on the cart as the horse pulled it along the cobblestone road. “Don’t make eye-contact unless you’re trying to start something,” the Companion growled and Danse looked away from the wolves.

            “How did it feel? Being a werewolf?”

            “I never felt like I was fully in control,” Vilkas answered lowly so that the carriage driver couldn’t hear. “There was always a burning in my spine and gums and the thought of the hunt tainted every waking moment of my life. In my dreams I would taste the blood of my kills and sometimes I’d wake up to find…” he swallowed and cleared his throat. Danse nodded.

            “You don’t have to continue.”

            “It’s fine,” Vilkas lifted his hand. “I can sleep through the night now, only the memories haunt me. It truly is a curse, but one you see most clearly when you’re free of it. You do not notice how strong the pull is… how much it…” he wrinkled his nose, his eyes lost to the middle distance as both Argis and Danse watched him. “The power you feel is awesome, it flows through you and makes you think you could take on anything –a legion of dragons…. You want nothing more than to feed,” Vilkas blinked and straightened up, tossing his apple core over his shoulder into the grass. “But my mind is clear now, no longer clouded by thoughts of the hunt or paranoia of killing those I care about.”

            “This is Reagan’s fate?” the former soldier sighed and rubbed his face. “To be tormented by thoughts of killing and feeding?”

            “Aye, but she is strong, and if she has her alpha with her she will have more control.”

            “‘Alpha’?” Danse narrowed his eyes.

            “Aye, the pack alpha has some control over his wolves. Nothing so much as to strip them of freewill, but with him –or her– near the wolf is stronger, and… more tame?” he seemed to look for the right word. “It becomes easier to control the beast within when you are near your alpha. Kodlak was ours, before Skaddi came to our order. He aided me in keeping my beast down, but when he died…” he shook his head and winced at the memory. “Alpha passed to me, though Skaddi took the Harbinger position. One by one we cured the Companions, starting with Kodlak in death, and ending with me.”

            “Skaddi was cured before you?”

            “Much to her disapproval,” Argis glared at the other nord and the Companion shrugged.

            “I was alpha, I had to go last.”

            Danse could understand that, being the leader and making sure the rest of his pack was taken care of before himself, incase something were to happen. He’d done the same thing more than once in the Brotherhood. His gloved fingers ran through his thick black hair as his thoughts drifted back to Elder Maxson telling him he was going to send him on a recon mission to the Commonwealth. Two other teams had been sent, the first was unbelievably successful while the second lost contact and disappeared.

            Maxson had been so disappointed in himself, taking the blame, as recon squad Artemis was his first sent to the northern wasteland. Danse made sure the young Elder knew that there was no way he could be at fault as Artemis was full of experienced Brotherhood soldiers who had been prepared by the squad before them. But Danse’s first thought when Maxson had told him he’d be going was Reagan.

 

            _“Sir… I’m not sure if my team is…_ ready _for this kind of assignment,” Danse said, trying to be professional, but Arthur knew him well, and could read him like a book._

_“You’re worried about Knight.”_

_Danse’s breath left him, “She… is very…”_

_“Aggressive? Impulsive?” Maxson poured a glass of whiskey. “Intense?”_

_“Yes, sir,” Danse sighed and rubbed his face. “Among many other things.”_

_“I think she’s ready for the adventure, Danse. We both know that’s not why you don’t want her going. If anything, I don’t feel_ Rhys _is ready for the trip, but he needs a chance to prove himself,” Maxson passed a glass to Danse and he picked it up, watching his Elder narrow his steely blue eyes and stare at the Prydwen’s wall. “Reagan won’t be happy if you don’t bring her.”_

_“Knight will understand,” he said, though, not convincingly._

_Both men met each other’s gazes and laughed. Maxson tilted his head and smirked at the Paladin, “I’ll let you be the one to tell her then. I think she’s up for the adventure, so I will not be the one to keep her back. Besides,” Maxson stepped up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder, and Danse lifted a brow, “I’ll have to be the one to deal with her when you leave her behind.”_

_They laughed and Danse finished his glass, wrinkling his nose at the taste –he’d always been more of a bourbon man. “I’ll tell her on our mission tomorrow.”_

_“Make sure she’s unarmed…”_

_“She wouldn’t hurt me,” Danse’s brows pulled together._

_“It’s not you I’m worried about,” Maxson chuckled and poured another glass._

_“What is going on here?” Paladin Danse stormed into the room after the sound of fighting died. The stomping of his power armor alerting Rhys and Knight to his entrance, so Reagan snapped to attention and Logan fell in shortly after, having to show off his broken nose to the Paladin. “Is this really the best use of your time?”_

_“Just defending my honor, sir,” Knight said with a sideways glance at her fellow knight._

_Danse knew that was bullshit, but he only sighed. A single punch to Rhys’s nose was by far not the worst thing she’d done on a recon mission. “I hope a perimeter has at least been secured?”_

_“Of course, sir,” Reagan said and Rhys touched his nose, pressing hard against it until it popped back into place and released a flow of blood._

_“Sir, if I may, I have to visit Scribe Haylen for an injury.” Paladin Danse nodded and the other knight departed._

_“What did he do this time?”_

_“Honestly, he asked for my best shot,” Knight gave a sheepish smile._

_“Please… save any more injuries for when we are back at the Citadel, we cannot afford either of you to be at any less than your best,” Danse sighed. She seemed to take pity on him, noting the crease in his brow, and nodded her understanding._

_“Yes, sir.”_

_“Will you accompany me for a perimeter check?” he flipped his helmet and placed it on his head. She seemed to like when he did that, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t trying to please her at least a_ little _before breaking her heart._

_“Of course, sir,” she smiled and grabbed her laser rifle and helmet._

_The walk had started off quiet, but as they saw there were no threats, they settled back at the door of the building they were using as a camp. It had been a hell of a find with all the walls but the front completely intact, making it ideal, as the previous owners had boarded up the windows, keeping the front as the only entrance. “We got lucky with this place,” Reagan commented and the Paladin nodded, turning his power armor so the back was to her as he stepped out of it._

_“Yes,” he agreed and rolled his shoulders, pressing his knuckles into his fists to crack the joints, working out the stiffness of having been in power armor for so long. “You and Rhys did an outstanding job,” Danse smiled at her. He didn’t smile often, but when he did she seemed to get distracted and stared. It’d always caught him off guard. “Knight?”_

_She blinked and shifted her gun in her hands. “Thank you, sir.”_

_“You should get some rest, I’ll take first watch.”_

_“You don’t have to do that, Paladin,” she faced him. “I’ll take watch, you can relax for a few hours. You’ve been awake the longest of us.”_

_He thought for a moment, frowning slightly. Then he shifted his weight. “Okay, Knight.”_

_She smiled as he headed into the building and then tilted her head in confusion as he returned, carrying a chair. Knight laughed lightly, “Damn, sir, you don’t like when someone questions your orders, huh?”_

_“Come on, Knight,” he patted the chair and she sighed and sat in it. “We’re friends, right?”_

_“I thought so,” she admitted, her brows meeting in curiosity. She knew this wasn’t going anywhere good._

_He nodded and leaned against his armor, crossing his legs, his right foot resting with his toes on the porch. “So you would understand if I didn’t want you to come with me on a mission…?” he couldn’t drag it out. He didn’t want to upset her, but he needed this conversation over with as soon as possible. The longer they dwelled on it the worse it would make them both feel._

_Shock filled her face as she gaped at him. He wasn’t looking at her though; he couldn’t bring himself to. “I… have I done something wrong, Paladin?” she stood up, then, quickly. “I apologize wholeheartedly for anything that I–”she started. Of course she would blame herself and take full responsibility for it._

_“Knight,” he stepped away from the power armor and took hold of her shoulders, looking at her now. Her honey eyes were barely visible in the lamplight, but he knew exactly what color they were because he’d spent more than his fair share of time staring into them. Honey gold when she was happy, golden brown when she was mad. “Reagan,” he added softly, knowing it was the only way to get to her. And he rarely had the excuse to use her first name. “It’s nothing you’ve done.”_

_“Then I don’t….”_

_“I’ve been assigned a recon mission in the Commonwealth. I don’t… I don’t want you to go yet,” he frowned. Damn it, he’d meant to make it sound less personal._

_Pain twisted her face. “Why, Danse?”_

_He dropped his arms and turned away, trying to think of a way to word it. “I don’t think you’re ready,” he decided, but he knew she could tell that wasn’t what it was._

_“I’m ready, sir, I’ve excelled faster than expected,” she tried. “Those were your words.” They were._

_His fists balled up and as he tried to contain his anger. He just wanted her to understand that he couldn’t come out and say it. He didn’t want her to come because he didn’t want_ her _hurt. She was more than ready, but he couldn’t risk losing her to the Commonwealth like he’d lost Cutler to the FEV. He turned back to look at her, his jaw tight. “Don’t make this harder on me than it is, Knight.”_

_She couldn’t just roll over, and he knew it. They both knew her too well to think she would just let this happen. “What did Elder Maxson say about this?”_

_“He left the decision up to me.”_

_“That means he thinks I can do it,” she pointed out._

_“I know you can–” Danse raised his arms, his voice a soft shout. He grabbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I don’t… want you to come.”_

_That hurt her. He could see it on her face and how her shoulders dropped. “Oh,” was all she managed as she looked away from him. “I apologize, Paladin.”_

_“Don’t–” he sighed, gritting his teeth in frustration as he turned away from her. “Damn it, Reagan.” She flinched and sat back down, seeming unable to stand anymore. She was trying to think of something she’d done to upset him, but it was just the opposite. “You didn’t do anything,” he said, making it sound like a promise. “I just… I don’t want you to get hurt. The last team that went to the Commonwealth never came back.”_

_She looked up at him with mixed emotions. “We all know the risks.”_

_“I know that, but I can’t bring myself to allow you into that threat, not when I can’t…” protect you. He heaved a sigh. It hurt her that he wouldn’t just say why he didn’t want her along, but it was so inappropriate. She and Rhys slept together, often, and it hurt him every time he saw her after, knowing what they’d done. He shouldn’t care, but he did._

_Reagan stood and rested a hand on his shoulder, getting him to turn to look at her. Danse’s brown eyes rested on her and she breathed slowly. He wondered if he had the same affect on her as she did him. “I won’t go, if you really don’t want me to.”_

_“Please, know it’s not about you, Reagan,” he swore to her. She nodded._

_“Okay, Danse,” she said._

_“Call me Sebastian just once, please,” he begged, his brows lifting. He couldn’t believe he asked that of her. It was_ wrong _but he needed to hear her say it. He loved when she said his name…_

_She smiled at him, her cheeks going warming. “Okay, Sebastian.” She was so beautiful, her dark hair tied up behind her head and her freckled face creased with the smirk that parted her lips and let him see her teeth._

_“Get some rest, Knight. That’s an order.”_

_“Yes, sir,” she whispered with a playful frown. A tiny part of him wished he could kiss her. “I’ll be up a few hours to relieve you.”_

            “Must be in Eastmarch,” Vilkas’ grunt drew Danse back. He didn’t know how long he’d drifted off, but it was growing dark and the overcast skies weren’t the only cause. The sun was low in the distance, but the clouds overhead and the heavy snowfall ahead of them blocked most of it. His brows drew together at what almost looked like a wall of snow.

            “I’ve never…”

            “It’s near constantly snowing in Eastmarch,” Argis said and shifted in his seat so he could readjust his knapsack. “I suggest making sure everything is packed so that snow won’t get into it. It’s a bitch when it melts and gets everything wet.

            “Ach,” Vilkas wrinkled his nose and secured the belt on his bag tighter. “The truth. This Hold ruined my favorite book…”

            “We’ll stop in Windhelm for a hot meal –you’ll be grateful,” Argis said and shifted in his seat. “Then we’ll catch the cart going north to Winterhold.”

            “Aye, the fare is cheaper also, two short rides,” Vilkas said and Danse nodded.

            “It’s been almost a day, correct? We’ll be there in two more?”

            “If the roads fare well and there are few… stops,” the housecarl smirked. “Though, if someone is stupid enough to try to hold up a cart with us in it, then we should relieve Nirn of them.”

            “Aye,” Vilkas chuckled and patted the handle of the blade on his back.

            Danse had to agree that the three of them in the back of a cart looked more trouble than it was worth. He didn’t have any coin, but he couldn’t be sure about the housecarl or Companion. “I can’t pay for a meal…”

            Argis snorted, “Skaddi does not need her coin, she said all that is hers is now yours and the Lady Reagan’s. She has a home in Windhelm, we will visit with her housecarl there.”

            Vilkas’ brows drew together, “Aye, what was her name?”

            “His,” Argis frowned. “Calder is his name.”

            The Companion smirked, “The one with the,” he used his hands to pinch the corners of his jaw outward as if to mimic stroking facial hair he did not have.

            “Aye…” Argis nodded.

            Danse didn’t get to understand what that meant until they were standing at the doors of Hjerim several hours later when the streets were lit only by shielded lamps. The man who opened the door was shorter than Argis, but built just the same and wore steel armor that looks similar to what Vilkas had given Danse. His hair was orange like Lander-Sergeant Michael Glass’s, but unlike the pilot his face was near free of freckles and his eyes were light blue instead of emerald green.

            “Calder,” Argis nodded his head.

            “Argis,” the other housecarl frowned, his accent and voice not as harsh as the blonde, larger man’s. “Who is your company?”

            “This is Vilkas, as you remember well I’m sure, and this is Sebastian, a friend of our Thane’s,” he gesture and the redhead bowed his head once. Danse shifted as snow settled heavily on his shoulders.

            “More friends of our Thane?” Calder narrowed his eyes at Danse.

            “‘More’?” Argis straightened up. “What friends of Skaddi’s have come by?”

            “ _Our Thane_ has sent a friend of hers here with his son, but I haven’t been able to understand a word from him. He had supplies and a note from her with her signature,” Calder insisted and stepped back to wave them in. Danse had a bad feeling.

            Argis and Vilkas stepped in first, marching in and shaking off snow at the door. Danse couldn’t believe the size of this home, especially after having seen Breezehome in Whiterun. The entirety of the other house could fit in just the visible space of the ground floor of this home. Stairs along a wall told him there was more above him, and he could see there was a room in the back of this one under the staircase. A fire with a stag’s head hanging above it sat to the left with chairs and tables about the space for sitting and eating. He also noticed there was a knapsack beside one of the chairs and a sniper rifle leaning against the backrest.

            Danse’s entire body froze and he held his breath, looking the weapon up and down. It wasn’t from this land, and it was familiar. From the Commonwealth, it fired .50 caliber bullets, but more than that, he knew the sniper that would always carry that wrapped, wood stocked, recon scoped firearm.

            “Daddy! There are soldiers here!”

            Danse spun around from where he’d been staring at the .50 cal to the boy standing at the foot of the stairs. He hadn’t heard the child coming down the steps, but that could be because of the nords talking amongst themselves trying to figure things out. They all turned to the boy though. His eyes were large and strange, sky blue to match his father’s.

            His father who came rushing down the steps behind him. MacCready looked from his boy to the men filling the room below. He placed a hand on his son’s head and stepped in front of him, looking passed the nords to Danse.

            “Well, seems you’ve embraced your new life there, Paladin….”

            “I’m not a Paladin anymore, as I’m sure you know,” his brown eyes darkened and narrowed.

            “Yeah… that business with being a synth. Sorry to hear about that,” he cleared his throat.

            “You can understand him?” Calder frowned at Danse.

            “Yes, we’re from the same… land,” he answered, looking at the redhead.

            “You can understand them?” MacCready wrinkled his nose. “Skaddi said something about getting a translation necklace from the court wizard, but I can’t get this guy to let me out of here… not that I know what I’m doing, I barely made it through the city gates.”

            Danse frowned, “Skaddi sent you here? Why?”

            He opened his mouth, and then closed it. “It’s… complicated actually. A lot happened after you left.”

            “I was sent away.”

            “Yeah, that,” the sniper’s gaze flicked to the supplies beside Danse. “Hey, I know we were never… really on the same page, but I told Skaddi I’d help you find Reagan.”

            “How did you know she’s missing?”

            “Well she was separated from you,” he started forward, letting his gaze flit to the nords who were trying to piece together the conversation from the single side they heard from Danse. “When we all got sent here by the Lord Bethany?”

            “Lord Bethany?" Danse frowned.

            “Boethiah?” Argis supplied and MacCready snapped his finger and pointed at him.

            “Yeah, Lord Boethiah, she was pissed at Skaddi for… ignoring her? And me, Duncan, Skaddi, and Maxi all got sent here–”

            “That’s _Elder Maxson_ , civilian,” Danse barked.

            “You’re a civilian now too, right?” he pointed out and picked up his knapsack. The former Paladin shifted and prepared to grab his laser rifle from his back. “Anyway, she beat the other champion and a really tall, black guy with tattoos gave me this bag of things to help me out, in it was a map,” he offered it over to Danse and he took it.

            When he opened it he realized it was of Skyrim and there were several letters sprinkled all over it. Argis stepped up to his side and his brows shot up. “Her allies…”

            An SD beside a C, V, and A were cluttering a tight space in Windhelm on the map. His eyes immediately scanned it, pausing in Falkreath where a lone R resided, then flicked up to Dragonbridge where RK was. His heart stopped. She was on the other side of the map… alone.

            “We’re going the wrong way,” he breathed.

            MacCready shifted, “What brought you this way anyhow?”

            “We were going to the College of Winterhold to find a mage,” he said and his gaze flicked up to notice another R in the college, but this one was curled in a different font than the other, looking almost more… masculine.

            “Why do you need a mage?”

            “To… find her,” Danse frowned and Argis shook his head.

            “I don’t trust it. The mage is still the best choice.”

            Vilkas came forward and MacCready stepped back, looking the dark man up and down with narrowed eyes. The Companion smirked at him and then looked over the map. “Ach, it looks accurate to me. Why waste time and good gold on a magician?”

            “Because it’s the Lady Reagan’s life. What if we find her and she needs healed? Companions don’t know magic, last I checked,” Argis straightened and Vilkas snorted.

            “Potions work like magic.”

            “And how many of those do you have?”

            “I have the gold to–”

            “Quiet! Both of you,” Danse snapped and folded the map up, tucking it into his bag. He didn’t miss how MacCready narrowed his eyes at him, but he pretended he hadn’t seen it. “Who is the R in Winterhold?”

            “That… should be Rothruin,” Argis said, scratching at the tattoo on his right cheek, under his good eye. “A high elf. He’s a fantastic–”

            “A high elf?” Vilkas spat.

            “Aye, a _high elf_. He worked with Skaddi during her time at the College. He’s not like the others, didn’t grow up at a warm hearth.”

            Calder folded his arms, “That’s all fine, but what of the other friend of our thane’s?”

            All eyes flicked to MacCready then and his touch reflexively went to his boy behind his long legs. Danse didn’t know him well, but he knew that the mercenary had never gone far from Nate’s side after Skaddi left him at the Police Station. He wanted to know more about why the sniper was here, and what had happened in the Commonwealth after he and Reagan left. “He’s coming with us,” the former soldier decided and the other man’s dark brows drew together over his hooked nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AceDovah said she'd write more of her submissive Vilkas for me if I wrote another Crossover chapter... so BAM! I highly recommend her fics, by the way.


	9. The Age of Not Believing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reagan and Thorbjorn make it to Markarth, but her beast is starting to make things harder on her, even drawing up her past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Age of Not Believing ~Bedknobs & Broomsticks

**Reagan**

            The City of Stone was nestled in the mountains with bands of natives at almost every turn. Reagan had never seen a landscape so beautiful, though, with rivers cutting deep into the rock making cliffs that had sheer drops hundreds of feet down. The city was the most impressive of it all, though, with its rock towers topped with a golden looking metal stretching high into the air.

            Ysmastaag was carrying them both up the steep incline to the imposing gates, which meant Reagan was sitting in front of Thorbjorn, holding tight to the saddle as he pressed into her back to help the stallion. He wasn’t crowding her –she was comfortable with men pressed up against her after all– but it wasn’t comfortable, and it made her stomach hurt.

            When they reached level ground she was able to see the whole of Markarth’s gate and openly stared with wide eyes and mouth. “It’s…”

            “Beautiful?” Thorbjorn supplied and chuckled.

            “Yeah,” she nodded, her fingers running through the coarse hair of Ysmastaag’s mane. “You live here?”

            “In my family’s estate on the cliff face,” he nodded, his beard brushing her hair.

            “Sounds depressing, does it have windows?” she lifted a brow and glanced over her shoulder at him.

            “It’s anything but depressing, I assure you,” he breathed and inclined his head toward the city. “We’ll leave Ysmastaag at the stable and go in on foot.”

            “Why not bring him?”

            He shifted in his saddle and gestured to the cliffs. “This is nothing to the drops in the city. I should like my horse to remain well, not die from a fall,” he lifted a brow at her and she nodded, pursing her lips.

            “Okay, fair enough.”

            Thorbjorn dismounted and helped her down. Reagan hadn’t noticed how sore she was until she tried to stand straight. Her back and hips ached and she desperately wanted to lie down… or shower. The stable hand that took Ysmastaag greeted the nord by name and smiled at the horse like he was welcoming an old friend back home.

            When they entered the city, she was taken aback by the utter size. Cliffs rose high with thresholds carved into it and massive metal doors filling them. A market took up most of the entry plaza, creating a maze to get through deeper, and all at once Reagan’s senses were assaulted.

            Garbage.

            Water.

            Food.

            No, more than _food._

            Bread. Fruit. Vegetables.

            _Meat_.

            Grabbing her nose, she tried to get the smells out, and breathed through her mouth, only then she could taste everything and gagged. Thorbjorn looked at her sideways and circled an arm around her, pulling her through the market as stall keepers tried to offer her up fresh, bloody meats and steaming breads, colorful silks and shining jewels, or alchemic supplies.

            The nord pulled her across a bridge that arched over a rushing river coming down from deeper in the city. Buildings were built up onto and into the cliffs, towering over her, up the mountain. The knight tried to steady her breathing so she could just focus on the scene before her, but it wouldn’t work. There was something in that market that hit her like a missile.

            The meat in Solitude hadn’t done this to her. Nothing outside the city did this to her. It was just this… that… meat.

            “–at me, Spadetail. Come on,” the nord snapped his fingers in front of her face and she blinked, her tongue hanging out of her mouth so it could trace her lips.

            “Wha–what’d you call me?” Reagan blinked and he grabbed her chin, ignoring her question so he could look into her eyes carefully. There was a hint of gold to his irises and she could smell him more clearly than she had yet. His scent was of the forest, mossy and wild with something under it… steel? Her nose wrinkled and he released her, stepping back some and she realized they were high on a cliff now, and his back was to a drop that would send him down to the plaza below. She wet her lips. “What just happened?”

            “You caught the scent of human flesh,” he said and she felt her heart pick up.

            “Someone in the market is selling…” Reagan gagged and clapped her hand over her mouth.

            “Aye,” Thorbjorn growled and grasped her hair, pulling it out of her face in case she threw up. Nothing happened, but she rested a hand on his chest for stability and then realized what was happening. The knight pushed away from the large man and cleared her throat.

            “Is… that legal?”

            “No, but the guards don’t know.”

            “How long has this been going on?”

            “Too long,” he shrugged and looked her over, the gold fading from his eyes. They stared at each other for a moment and Reagan nervously ran her fingers through her hair.

            “Okay, so where’s this house of yours?”

            “Behind you,” he gestured and stepped around her. The door looked like the others but the threshold was massive and decorated with what looked like two saber cats climbing up the sides toward a dragon sitting on top. The dragon was throwing its head up and spitting fire to complete the arch.

            When he unlocked the door and stepped in he called out, “Mjovanir, it’s Thorbjorn!”

            Reagan couldn’t help but grin. “Thor has a Mjolnir…”

            “Aye, sir,” a woman came around the corner and paused, her gaze landing on Reagan before narrowing. “Shall I prepare a meal?”

            “Yes, thank you.”

            “Of course,” she bowed her head and turned, heading into a room Reagan couldn’t see from the door.

            “She’s pretty,” the knight said, clearing her throat. “Beautiful actually, with that, uh, nose,” she pinched her fingers in front of her own as if it could mold her thick bridge to narrow into the pretty thing that nord woman had. “And that hair, shit, she use volumizing shampoo or something?” Her hands ruffled the greasy brown hair that fell passed her shoulders. It probably looked flat and as gross as it felt. Her nose wrinkled. “Does, uh, were those tattoos on her face? Or paint?” she lifted a brow at the nord who was staring at her.

            “They are tattoos,” he answered.

            “Ah, like Argis’ then. But… lighter and longer… and…” Reagan’s fingers traced her face from her eyes down over her cheekbones, along the side of her face to her neck, following the tendons in her neck to make the pattern that Mjovanir had tattooed to her skin in a faded, grey-green. It made her eyes look smoky in the brief moment she saw her. That with her thin brows resting in perfect lines and her mane of golden blond hair swept away from her face, made the woman looked rather out of place in the dark fur pelt draped over her shoulders. Honestly she looked like a woman from before the war back in the Capital Wasteland. “Um, nothing like Argis’ actually,” she cleared her throat and straightened up. “So, why is there a pretty lady in your house?”

            “She will be happy you think he attractive,” Thorbjorn smirked and started forward, releasing clamps on his armor. “Mjovanir is my family’s housecarl.”

            “Ah, okay,” she nodded, remembering Lydia sticking to Skaddi’s home in Whiterun. She kept a few paces behind the nord. “So she just… hangs out here until you come home?”

            “Or I bring her on my adventures, but as she does not share the beast blood, I usually let her remain here,” Thorbjorn gestured around the large living space and Reagan gaped. Stairs led up to another level that was bright with sunlight from outside and looked to have rooms carved into the cliff deeper. This floor was lit more by fire as the sun did not reach it well without leave awkward shadows. Many rooms were built off of this one, but the doors were open, letting her see a library, alchemy room, enchanter, as well as armory and weapon’s vault.

            “Damn.”

            “I told you, anything but depressing,” he chuckled and walked over to the armory as he pulled his chest plate off. Reagan remained in the entry and stared at the architecture and how different it was from what she’d seen in Solitude. Not that far away, but so very, very different.

            “Does the lady have any preferences?” a smoky voice came from behind Reagan as she turned her back toward the kitchen.

            The knight turned back and shrugged, “Food, preferably of the edible variety.”

            The woman’s plump lips curved and she lifted a perfect brow. “Of course.”

            Reagan shifted and watched her return to the kitchen and then looked over at Thorbjorn in the armory. He was pulling his shirt off and tossed it onto a table in the center of the room. Then he adjusted his belt and the armor plating his ass and thighs came away, leaving him in a single cloth. Her honey eyes darted away and she cleared her throat, wetting her lips as she tried to decide between checking with Mjovanir and talking with him about what had happened in the market.

            Sizzling came from the kitchen and the scent hit her nose a moment later. Mouth watering, Reagan wandered over to the doorway and peered in. The space was larger than Skaddi’s home in Whiterun, and had open windows that overlooked waterfalls within the city.

            “What’re you cooking?”

            Mjovanir glanced over her shoulder and then shifted so that Reagan could see the slabs of meat on the skillet cooking over the open flames. “Beef, if it please milady.”

            “Always liked steak… what is that, ribeye?” she came forward to look at the cut closer and grinned.

            “The finest for my Thane.”

            “Thorbjorn is Thane?” Reagan’s brows jerked together and the other woman frowned.

            “His father was,” she said, her thick accent distorting the words. “The jarl would give him the name if he bent the knee, but the interest does not keep him. I suppose ‘master’ is a more suitable title, but the young Golden-Hilt would deny it the moment the words left my lips.” Mjovanir flipped the steaks and then turned to tend some mashed potatoes and a meat gravy. “Would the lady like any more vegetables with her meal?”

            “I’m sure this is enough.”

            “I will call you when it is ready should you like to dress down for the evening. Unless you and sir are planning to take to the hills…?” she lifted a brow and just as Reagan was about to ask, she caught Thorbjorn’s scent at the door.

            “We’ll head out passed dark, so she can dress down if she likes. Come, Spadetail, I’ll show you your room for the duration of your stay.”

            Mjovanir grinned at that, and looked like she was hiding a laugh as she turned back to the food. Reagan narrowed her eyes and followed the nord as he left to start his trek through the home. “What is a Spadetail and why do you call me that?”

            “You don’t know?” he looked back at her, standing at the base of the stairs. She stepped up to him and frowned.

            “Would I ask if I did?”

            Nodding he grinned and climbed the steps, his hand coming up to stroke the prongs of his beard. “It is a fish.” Of course it would be something that simple.

            “And why am I a fish?” it couldn’t be a compliment.

            She followed him down a hallway that was dark –only lit by the reflecting light off the stone exposed to the open windows. She wondered how this place fared during storms or even at night.

            “You should take up alchemy and learn the properties of a Cyrodilic Spadetail, then you will know. Until then,” he grabbed a metal door and pushed it open, showing her a room that was twice that of the messhall on the Prydwen. Her heart fluttered and she stepped into it. Animal furs acted as blankets on the four-poster bed in many layers as well as rugs on the floor at key areas of the room. Wardrobes, dressers, and sitting furniture decorated the room, defining the space so it looked even larger than it did.

            “Damn…”

            “I thought you might like it. Should you need to change, there is a wide range of clothing in the wardrobes.”

            “Have many lady friends over?” she grinned up at him and he chuckled, leaning against the door.

            “No, Spadetail, I just supply for my guests. Tomorrow we go to the smithy and get you suited up so I don’t have to worry about you taking an arrow,” he clapped her shoulder and started deeper down the hall. She watched him, faintly wondering where his pants came from and why he didn’t have a shirt on. Then she went into the room and closed the door, more than happy to work off whatever the hell corset was holding her stomach in and pushing her boobs out.

 

 

            Reagan panted and rubbed her face with her dirt-caked fingers. A growl escaped her lips and she threw herself up into a sitting position to glare at the nord standing a few feet away.

            His face was even, not giving away what his thoughts were, but she knew disappointment filled him. She was right with him, but she wouldn’t let him know that. The last thing she needed was for him to know he was right. “You didn’t have to do that!” she snapped despite herself.

            “You would have killed him,” Thorbjorn started, his tone low, and Reagan bared her teeth at him, snarling before he finished.

            “I wouldn’t have! I was in control!” If she kept telling herself that she might believe it.

            “Like you are now?” he barked, letting his own beast come into his voice. She flinched and hissed, her nails digging into the damp soil of the riverbank she sat naked on. She had managed to phase out of her beast form before attacking a farmer out late to tend his livestock just down the cliff face from where she and Thorbjorn were.

            Of course, her change was made easier when Thor had grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and thrown her backward. He was able to change back and forth with enough ease she wanted to be sick. And the fact he had that armor that lent itself to the change so it didn’t shred when he transformed, only made her more envious.

            “Don’t question me, Spadetail.” This time his voice was even.

            “Fuck, just use my _name_!” she snapped. “Reagan! Knight! I don’t give a shit! I can come up with something for you I can laugh at without you knowing why, too!”

            His mustache-covered lip drew back over his teeth and his arms crossed. “Go ahead, _Spadetail_.”

            “Rex! That’s it, you’re Rex now,” she stood up and slapped her own ass a few times to get the dirt off and then huffed and walked into the river. “Go fetch me a towel, Rex!”

            The nord didn’t move and simply watched her as she washed her skin clean. When she turned back to him he shook his head. “Shift again and this time, try going north.”

            “Which way is north?” she asked, looking to the skies slightly annoyed. She didn’t have a north star to locate, and the moons were more disorienting than helpful.

            “Your beast will know.”

            Reagan’s lip twitched and she glared at the nord before trying to relax her body enough to let the wolf inside take over…

 

 

            _The Prydwen was bustling, but Reagan simply grinned, leaning her chair back as her feet kicked up onto the seat next to her. She and Lancer-Sergeant Michael Glass had a mission in a few hours, but until then they had time to spare. She decided that time would be spent in the mess hall with a bowl of dry sugar bombs and a nuka cherry._

_Michael was more interested in the paperwork he’d brought with him to do than make conversation with her, but she didn’t mind. In the years she’d known him he’d never been the type of man to leave tasks unfinished. If that meant that work piled up, then it piled up. He wasn’t going to finish this before they had to head out._

_“Here,” she pushed her cherry drink over to the superior officer and he glanced up, lifting an orange brow before smirking his family’s famous smile._

_“No, Reagan, I know better.”_

_“I’m giving it to you, it’s different than you stealing it from my footlocker,” she pushed it farther until it bumped his knuckles and he signed, straightening up and locking his emerald eyes on her._

_“Why the sudden kindness?”_

_“I don’t want me ‘bird pilot falling asleep,” she smiled and popped a few sugar bombs into her mouth. “Just drink the damn soda, Glass.”_

_“You don’t have anything, right? Because I just got my results from Cade yesterday and I’m clean,” he chuckled and she shot her foot out under the table to smack his leg hard. “Ow! Fuck,” he barked and nearly dropped the soda, sloshing the contents onto the table._

_“See, this is why I don’t share with you,” Reagan grinned and took back her cherry soda. “You’re an asshole.”_

_“Am I a pretty asshole?” he asked and batted his eyelashes at her._

_Reagan shook her head and tried not to laugh at him. “Sure, the prettiest asshole in the room. Only because Rhys is in the Commonwealth, yeah?”_

_Her smile faded at that and Michael’s expression sobered. “Hey,” he leaned forward so she had to look up at him. “They’re doing fine. Danse is a great leader.”_

_“I know, I’m just…” she shook her head and ran her fingers through her hair. “I hope nothing happens to them.”_

_“Nothing’s going to happen. The last mission was…” he stopped and frowned. Reagan nodded and cleared her throat._

_“Danse knows what he’s doing.”_

_“He’s the right man for the job. If anyone can keep Gladius alive, it’s Paladin Danse.”_

_“Thanks, Angel,” she reached out and patted his cheek. He smiled at her, the smirk on his lips heavily lopsided, but that was the charm. He knew that his freckled face and piercing eyes were enough to make just about any girl fall in love. Hell, it almost worked on her, but she had known him since birth, and there was little you could do to shake the feeling of siblings off._

_“Should probably go put a bra on, Maxson’s coming,” he said suddenly, and looked passed her._

_“What?” she snapped forward and grabbed her breast before realizing the Elder wasn’t in the mess and the lancer was laughing hard enough he had to grab his side._

_“Shit, Reagan–”_

_“Fuck you, you know that?_ Fuck. You _.”_

_“I wish you would,” he smiled and she stood up, and circled the table. “Hey, what’re you doing?”_

_“Fuckin’ you,” she growled and placed her foot behind the leg of his chair as she straddled him, and crowded him with her breasts near his face._

_“Hey, let’s talk about this,” he raised his arms, but she tipped the chair back with the leverage she had and he reached for her just as she stepped forward, over him, and let him fall backward onto the hard, metal floor. He coughed and let out a swear, and Reagan simply stared down at him with her hands on her hips._

_“Should probably get yourself up and dusted off before Maxson shows up.”_

_“Why don’t you lend him a hand, Knight?”_

_Reagan’s back stiffened and she looked over her shoulder at the young Elder. His steel-blue gaze shifted easily from the lancer lying on the ground and the knight before him. She shot him a smile but saluted, “Of course, Elder. Right away.”_

_He nodded and then he smiled just a little, his ears going pink. “And… Knight, put a bra on, please.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't forget about Michael Glass. Remember him? Remember what happened to him?


	10. Learn Me Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse works some information out of Mac, and learns his first Word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Learn Me Right ~Brave

**Danse**

            The snowball flew right passed Danse into the Companion heartily laughing beside him at something Argis was saying with a reserved smile. The former Paladin hadn’t been paying attention, so he was caught off guard by the sight of the white orb crossing his vision, and then making contact with the dark haired nord beside him.

            Vilkas’ laugh died off and he looked at Danse before his pale blue gaze flitted to the culprit sitting on the floor of the cart with wide, wide blue eyes and horror parting his lips. Duncan looked up at his dad who was sitting in the spot across from Danse, his body wrapped tight in a fur pelt Calder gave him. He appeared to be sleeping, but his hat’s brim hid his face from view.

            Just as the boy returned his mortified eyes to his victim, his pale face was met with the sudden shock of compacted snow exploding into a flurry of flakes. Danse whipped around to look at the nord beside him wearing the smug smirk as he crossed his hands dirtied with the white evidence of his retaliation. Then a childish laugh came from below, and the creamy brown eyes of the ex-soldier fell on the flushed, smiling face of a boy too young to fully understand the worlds around him.

            “Daddy,” Duncan reached out and tugged on the snow-caked pant leg of his father. MacCready responded by lifting his head and tilting it at his boy before looking up to see that both his son and Vilkas had clumps of snow stacked up on their chests. He frowned and looked back down.

            “You starting fights you can’t finish?”

            “The scary man threw the ball back,” Duncan beamed to show a near full set of off-white teeth. Compared to his father who was missing a good number –and those he had were _not_ white­– Danse was almost shocked. Obviously Duncan was being kept in better conditions than his father had previously been in, at least in recent enough years to screw up his mouth.

            The former Paladin had chalked his fine teeth up to his being lucky: always having food to eat, clear water to drink, and enough sense to clean them often enough to keep them health. Reagan’s near-white teeth were even better than his –a surprising revelation as he had been manufactured rather than born. She grew up in the Brotherhood, born to Head Scribe Danielle and Lancer-Captain William Knight back in the Capital Wasteland.

            Danse had met her parents more than once before being shipped off to the Commonwealth. William was a large, large man with an accent very similar to Proctor Quinlan’s, but with what almost seemed a Southern twang to it. Normally he stood straight, near towering over his fellow soldiers, and had an air about him that demanded respect –but when he got angry, his entire being shifted. He went from being a very collected man, to flailing arms and leaning toward you as his face went red with swears and hurtful phrases. Danse had seen more than his fair share of Lancer-Initiate crumple under the harsh opinion of the Lancer-Captain. He never kept his opinions to himself, and never beat around the bush.

            _“Sugar coated shit’s still shit,”_ he would tell his soldiers. Maybe that was where Reagan got her near insensitive demeanor, though it was severely watered down when compared to her father.

            Danielle Knight was far different. Her anger came across with a smile and positive words you later realized were not compliments. In this way, she and William were near polar opposites, but neither seemed to upset the other often enough to be seen arguing. In fact, they had a near model marriage. One that Danse hoped he could give Reagan.

            “Sebastian.”

            Having his attention called back from his thoughts, Danse glanced over to Argis whose brows were drawn heavily together.

            “What has you distracted so, brother?”

            “His lady, most like,” Vilkas barked and clapped a gloved hand on Danse’s steel plated shoulder. His lips curled into a grin that looked damn near wolfish.

            “Somewhat,” he confessed and shifted in his seat. Snow coated the whole cart, and if he moved too much the dry spot under his rear would get wet. “Her family, actually.”

            “What of them?” Argis leaned forward.

            Danse looked over at Duncan as he climbed into MacCready’s lap. The sniper’s blue eyes were turned down, but he could tell by how they were unfocused his attention was on what he was listening to. Either to them talking –of which he wouldn’t be able to understand Vilkas nor Argis– or to something else, he couldn’t be sure.

            “I just hope I can make her happy –like how her parents were.”

            “No marriage is perfect,” Argis started. Vilkas let out a huff.

            “Most aren’t even happy.”

            Danse frowned and looked down at the stomped snow between him and the other men. New flakes poured from the high clouds, and the temperature had long since dropped, but his body adjusted, and the armor he wore kept him warm. Visibility was very low, though, meaning anything passed the road –which was little more than a dip in the snow until they traveled through it– and ahead of the horse was hidden from his sight.

            “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. You’re worrying yourself over measuring up to her parents, and you’re going through hell to find her,” MacCready surprised Danse by speaking up. “If you traveling from one side of an unknown country to another to get to her isn’t enough to make her, happy, then she’s not worth _you_.”

            Argis and Vilkas were both staring at the thin sniper, unable to understand him. Ignoring them, he cleared his throat, “You never mentioned exactly why Skaddi sent you here…?”

            MacCready shifted, pulling his child up under his cloak, despite the snow covering the boy. “She said the healers here would be able to help Duncan. After the Institute was dealt with, she and… Sam-something sent the two of us here with supplies and a map to all of her allies.”

            Danse’s spine stiffened. The Institute was destroyed? His brows furrowed, but he lifted his chin. “You said Lord Boethia was angry with her, and that she beat her champion, where did that happen?”

            “I’m not sure,” the sniper looked back in the direction they’d come. “The snow really throws me off, but I think it was south of that city. There was a shrine there. Duncan, Maxson, and I were tied to it. She pissed off that Lord because she wouldn’t sacrifice us.”

            “Bad words! Bad words!” a muffled voice came from under the pelt.

            Danse turned to Argis, “Does Boethia have a shrine near Windhelm?”

            “Aye, south a ways I believe.” The nord’s nose wrinkled and he frowned. “Is that where my Thane is?”

            Danse returned his gaze to MacCready. “Is Skaddi still here in Skyrim? Or Elder Maxson?”

            “No. That Same guy took them back to the Commonwealth, I think. He seemed in a bit of a hurry. Said Hershey was really interested in Reagan?” His nose wrinkled. Danse didn’t know what that meant, and continued.

            “How was the Institute defeated?”

            “The Brotherhood kicked in the roof with a giant robot, and blew the place sky high.”

            The former Paladin’s face showed his awe. He knew they would get Liberty Prime operational, but it had only been days, and they defeated the Institute completely? He shook his head, “What of Nate Briars?”

            “Dead.”

            The one word was a spoken relief to Danse, but there seemed to be more to it. “How?”

            The sniper looked away. “Skaddi tore him apart –almost literally.” He drew a line across his and Duncan’s stomach with his thumb, and then his throat. “There was blood… _everywhere_.”

            “It was so scary,” the boy breathed and cuddled into his father. MacCready frowned and placed a fur-gloved hand over the boy’s ears, pressing him to his chest.

            “What were you doing in all of this?” Sebastian leaned forward with narrowed eyes. Vilkas and Argis were watching MacCready with close eyes, trying to make sense of the conversation, but were politely keeping out of it.

            “Nate… betrayed us all. I’m not proud of my part in all of this,” the sniper lifted his pointed chin. “They had my son and were using his life as a bargaining chip…. When the Brotherhood came knocking, I did what I could. When Nate shot Maxson down: I was lucky to be near enough to patch him up while Skaddi took out Nate.”

            “You… ‘patched up’ Elder Maxson?” Astonished wasn’t a strong enough word.

            “Surprised?” There was _almost_ a cocky grin on his thin lips.

            Ignoring the question, Danse tilted his head, “So you helped blow up the Institute and then… found yourselves at Boethia’s Shrine?”

            “Pretty much. Skaddi won the fight with the champion guy, then she and Maxson went back to the Commonwealth.”

            “But they left you here with supplies and a way to track down all of Skaddi’s allies….” It wasn’t really a question, so much as him trying to link the story pieces together.

            “Yeah?”

            The ex-soldier straightened up and looked over at the nords. Something felt… off. Missing. “So you and Skaddi are on good terms now?”

            It took MacCready a moment to answer, he looked down at the space between him and Danse, seeming to consider his words. “She’s… not happy about me sticking with Nate until the Brotherhood showed up. But what choice did I have? They had Duncan. It’s not something you really understand until you’re a parent and you might lose your kid.” The younger man’s arms wrapped tighter around his boy, and Danse looked at the child.

            He was starting to understand, though. Reagan was pregnant with their baby and he was a father now, in a way. He couldn’t hold his child unless he held his woman as well, but he cherished them both.

            And right now, looking at how MacCready held his son and looked down at the snowy hood resting against his chest, Danse could imagine doing the same thing to a little boy or girl of his own.

            “Why do you want to help me find Reagan?” What are you going to gain out of this?”

            “I want to make up for what I did. In _any_ way I can.” He straightened up, brows drawing together, “Skaddi spared my son and gave me a chance to give him a better life. I want to make things right and set a better example for him.” Both nords watched carefully, as if his movements and tone gave them the impression his words were a threat. Danse just looked at his face, checking those blue eyes and the curve of those narrow lips. He was being honest. He wanted to redeem himself.

            “All right, MacCready.” Danse nodded once. “I trust you.”

 

 

            “And we’re doing this _why_ again?”

            “Ach–brother, keep low!”

            “Coin! We always need it, Sebastian. Skaddi’s house in the Pale is far out of the way, and we don’t know how much Rothruin will be wanting for compensation to leave!”

            “ _Duck!_ ”

            “No. That’s a dragon.”

            Danse dove into the snow and curled up into a tight ball so that his legs were tucked behind the bolder as the frosty spikes shot out into his direction. The sound of shattering ice was deafening, splitting his ears.

            Grimacing, his upper lip drew back and he hissed before grabbing his laser rifle from the fluffy white pile of snow he’d landed in. Righteous Authority blazed beams of red up toward the dragon.

            “Besides! There’s a Word here you can learn,” Argis shouted, “ _Dragonborn!_ ”

            Words of Power. Those will allow him to Shout. His mind flashed to the first time he saw Skaddi use the Voice, not ten minutes after meeting her she threw a horde of ghouls across College Square Plaza with nothing but three words he couldn’t understand. “Did Skaddi know this Word?”

            “Aye!”

            Danse used the bolder for cover and bend around it, firing on the dragon, watching some of the laser bolts bounce off the scales, while others burned through or between them. It appeared the thicker, darker ones on the top of this frost dragon, reflected them while the paler ones underneath appeared to be softer. The beast jerked its head around to look at him, eyes narrowing.

            It started to growl, moving its mouth in a way as if to speak, but the words coming out were unknown to him, and barely more than guttural sounds. Using his wings to crawl forward, he charged toward Danse, right into the laser fire.

            A sharp crack filled the air and something hit the dragon in the face so hard it snapped to the side with the shock. The nords took the chance to get up under the protective wings of the best to the softer underbelly, but Danse looked at his face.

            The left eye was gone, given way to a gaping hole and squirting red blood that painted the white snow. The wyvern threw its head back and screamed a menacing sound of pure rage before looking back down at Danse, the freezing stare somehow burning more than fire could.

            His maw parted to show grizzly teeth, a flailing tongue, and the dual throats as frost built up. He could faintly hear the crackling of the saliva in its mouth freezing and cracking over and over. Just like in Whiterun, Danse aimed for the back of the beast’s throat and fired a true shot, watching laser meet ice.

            Another crack split the air and the dragon jerked. Struck by two shots perpendicular to each other, the head tipped back and then snapped sideways, causing the wings to crumple and the beast to fall forward, toward Danse. His eyes snapped wide as he realized now he was at a slight decline from the beast, and it slid through the snow effortlessly toward him. Some yards behind him was a cliff face, and if he didn’t move soon, he was going to find out how far down it went.

            Deafening crackling and bright light took over the corpse that fell his way as Danse tried to trudge sideways, out of the dragon’s path. He felt his body start to lighten, and his limbs grow stronger. His body took on the strength of the beast he’d just slain and he tossed Righteous Authority ahead of him before he dove forward out of the mess of scales and bones that threatened to push him over the edge.

            His breathing was the first thing he noticed after he pushed himself into a sitting position, and then stood. His whole body heaved with the pants, and then he realized just how much freezing water was seeping into his armor, chilling his body. The most quiet swear he could manage slipped from his lips and he looked around for his laser rifle in the pile of snow where he’d thrown it.

            “Ah, brother, don’t scare me like that,” Vilkas clapped Danse on the back and he looked up at the Companion with a lifted brow and smirk.

            “Me scare you?”

            “Aye, thought you were gone, over the cliff,” he turned to look at the ditch in the snow left by the body. “Shame, we could have sold some of its bits.”

            Danse snorted and finally found his rifle, grabbing it up he brushed off the chunks of white clinging to it and then turned to Argis who was carefully coming down the slope in the dragon’s path. He was grinning, but he also looked winded. Just Vilkas had his breath then… outstanding.

            “You’re good, Sebastian?” the blonde nord called.

            “Yes, Argis,” Danse nodded.

            “Good, when you’re ready, the Word is at the peak,” he turned back around and used his weapon to help heave him up the slope again. Vilkas leaned over the side of the cliff, not the least bit worried about falling, and frowned down at the remains of the dragon.

            “The head would have made a fine trophy…”

            “There will be others,” Danse marched up the hill, careful to make sure his boots made good contact in the snow, so as not so slip.

            At the top he saw Argis running his fingers over a wall with strange carvings. Duncan was pushing open a large brown chest that he’d brushed off while MacCready stood close incase he needed help. The former soldier’s attention was drawn to the Word Wall almost as soon as he looked away from it. He didn’t feel anything until he looked away, then it felt like a pull.

            “Come on, Sebastian, get on up there and learn your damn Word,” Vilkas grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him forward. He barely felt it. It was like moving through a daze; the sides of his vision gave to a blur and there was only the Word Wall. He couldn’t even fully make out Argis anymore, despite him standing right there.

            Deep carvings started to burn in his vision. Not giving off light themselves, but as if he was staring so hard at them they were seared into his vision. Drawing closer he could finally feel the force that had drew his eyes, and now his body. Like tiny breaths, soft breezes over his skin, under his armor. Warm, to chill away the biting freeze.

            He stood in front of the Wall with his gloved fingers brushing over the glowing Word, his eyes locked, unblinking in place.

            _Slen…_

_Flesh…_

            The words around it translated, but not like someone was telling him what they meant, as if he’d always known.

            _Noble Nords remember these words of the hoar father: Even best steel may bend and break, but flesh of true men is unyielding…_

Something smacked Danse in the back of the head and he jerked around, feeling something bellow up inside him and before he could stop himself he opened his mouth and Shouted, “ _Slen!_ ”

            Vilkas turned his body as the jet of ice burst from the Dragonborn’s mouth and charged forward as a wall of frost. His armor was clipped, though, and the freeze climbed him, spreading quickly.

            The nord jolted back and swiped at the creeping ice. Danse jumped forward and tried to stop it as well, but it was Argis who pushed the ex-paladin aside and poured a blueish liquid over the Companion’s armor and the ice hissed before stopping in its place. Vilkas let out a huff, and lifted a brow at the mortified man in steel, looking at his hands, then at his victim.

            “I didn’t–”

            “No harm, brother, you weren’t responding. I shouldn’t have struck you.”

            “No, you shouldn’t have,” Argis growled and slapped the younger man over the back of the head just as he’d done to Danse. “Next time he may actually hit you and then you would be a block of ice.”

            “Damn, Danse, I think you need to lay off the breath mints,” MacCready breathed. Duncan giggled at that, a steel helmet –far too big for his small head– resting with a thick nose guard between his eyes, pointing to the massive grin on his lips. Danse ignored the sniper’s comment and looked at the boy, bundled in furs, with chainmail piled on his shoulders from the helmet. His chubby cheeks were too much for the smile, and pressed into his eyes, causing them to squint closed.

            He and Reagan were going to have one of these. The feeling he had for the boy he barely knew was like nothing he had felt before, and he knew he was going to have something similar, but far more intense for his own child.

            Would it be a boy or a girl? He didn’t really care. Reagan had mentioned she only wanted sons, ‘ _Because women are bitches, and I think I have enough of those in my life._ ’ He’d laughed, but he honestly just wanted to have a baby that was healthy. His greatest fear was seeded with the knowledge that he was not truly human and that he could be the reason the baby isn’t healthy.

            “Sebastian?”

            Argis’ voice pulled him back from his thoughts and he turned to the nord, “Yes?”

            “We should get moving.”

            “How do we prove we killed the dragon?” he glanced over at Vilkas who was smirking.

            “Nord’s honor, and that of a Companion,” he answered. “If this Jarl should doubt us though,” he lifted up what looked like a massive claw. “We’ll just show him this and tell him where to find the corpse. With, of course, the mention that you syphoned its soul.”

            Danse’s brows turned upward, “And… they’ll believe us?”

            Argis stepped into his peripheral and rested a hand on his shoulder, “If they don’t, just remember that Word and say it, _softly_ , toward a wall with as few people between you and it as possible.”

            “Vilkas, I apologize for–”

            “Calm yourself, brother,” the nord came forward and patted the former soldier’s chest. “I hold no ill toward you. Now, let’s get on to the mage, shall we?”

            “Yes,” Danse nodded and cleared his throat, looking over at MacCready who was rifling through the chest, putting some things in his bag. It seemed to be filled passed the point it should, but he didn’t seem to put any effort into hold it up. It may have been enchanted.

            “Come, then, if the cart driver hasn’t left yet, he will soon,” Argis pulled his hood up over his head, sending snow down onto his shoulders.

            “He best have not,” Vilkas growled, his lip curling. “I’ve paid the fare for the whole of us to get to Winterhold, not just a mountain in the Pale.”

            Argis turned back and grinned, “Sitting still in the cold is the worst you can do, you know that, Companion.”

            “I’ll throw more coin his way –if he’s still there– housecarl.”

            Danse let out a breath and tucked away Righteous Authority under his cloak on his back. He allowed the sniper and his boy ahead of him as they followed Argis down the mountain to return to the road. Vilkas traveled a few paces away, toward the back, but still in front of Danse, almost like a shepherd.

            As they walked, the Dragonborn let his mind fall back, remembering the feeling of sheer _power_ he had when he spoke that single word. He’d been so surprised; he hadn’t noticed the cool air left in his mouth, separate from that which he breathed now. It came from within him, not his core, but close to it. It didn’t feel like he had to put any more effort into it than he did to speak. But his body moved with the force of the Shout naturally –as if it were meant to. One moment he couldn’t image the feeling, and now he didn’t think he could live without it. 


	11. Evil Like Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It took a moment, but she managed to work through the ribs and spine, breaking the bones with her teeth and claws. When she got to the heart, she took it carefully with her teeth and lifted her head, tipping it back so that she muscle pulsed in her mouth a few times before her maw closed on it, spraying blood, dripping it down her throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evil Like Me ~Descendants 
> 
> Little bit of a shorter chapter, but there's a lot packed into it.

**Reagan**

            “I… I can’t.”

            “Yes. You can.”

            A hiss filtered up from her throat and Reagan squeezed her eyes shut. Bile burned the back of her throat and she tried her hardest to keep it down. The scent of rust and salt filled her nose, making her spine crawl. It even made it onto her tongue, making it salivate, but she was so disgusted with herself, she thought she was going to throw up.

            “No. I can’t!” she choked out, tears stinging her eyes. Her body jerked forward.

            “Damn it,” Thorbjorn growled and pushed her behind him. She fell back into her chair, well, not really falling. She was only a few inches above the seat. The nord tossed the bleeding hunk of meat over to Mjovanir and she wrapped it up before tucking it into her satchel.

            They were out in the middle of nowhere, in a one-room shack that consisted of a bed, bookcase, single chair, and table. It was the ‘perfect’ spot to train her to ignore the scent of blood, but her beast was growing stronger every day, and now even a slab of rabbit meat made her go wild.

            They’d come out here after a full breakfast –so she wouldn’t attack anyone at the market– and she wasn’t even _hungry_ , but her stomach growled and demanded the meat that had been taken from her. Her fingers curled into fists and Thorbjorn turned to her, kneeling down, he cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his stare.

            “You were doing it, Spadetail, you had it,” his scent filled her nose. Commanding and strong, like trees and steel. It comforted her to smell him, easing the ache in her mind. He seemed to sense it and, too, relaxed. “You have to take control of it. Don’t, even for a second, doubt yourself.”

            The tears dripped onto her cheeks, “It’s so hard…”

            “I know.”

            The heel of her palm rubbed at her eyes and she looked down. “I’ll… I just need a minute.”

            “I’ll be outside,” he promised and pressed his forehead into hers as he stood. The contact warmed her suddenly, washing her with some sort of comfort, or strength. Her honey gaze watched him as he shepherded Mjovanir out the open doorway.

            When she was alone, her body relaxed some, but her spine was still stiff. It felt like she wasn’t the only one controlling her body. Like fighting a sneeze. You can feel it coming up, but there was little you can do it stop it. How much she wanted to just ignore the meat sitting in front of her, but the longer she looked at it, the more appetizing it became, and the more her mouth watered. When the scent filled her nose she could _taste_ it and she knew just how good it would be.

            But it _wouldn’t_ be! Not _raw_! But that’s what she wanted. She wanted to taste the blood, and it made her stomach churn to think about.

            “…I’ll return home, should you need me.”

            “Thank you.”

            Reagan’s ears perked and she looked up to see Mjovanir leaving. She stood up and went to the door, looking around to find Thorbjorn standing by a tree with odd berries. She stepped up to his side and looked at the small fruits he plucked from it.

            “What’re those good for?”

            He smirked, “They’re as good as they are bad.” The nord took her wrist and held her hand up so that her palm was out. “Juniper berries give you focus, make you better with a bow, or similar, and also make you heal a little faster. But they also make you take longer to recover when exerting yourself and, heh,” he chuckled squishing on between his first finger and thumb, “They’re flammable.”

            Her lips turned down. “I don’t think I like them.”

            “We’re going to see if a couple of them will help you focus,” he said and let her have her hand back. Nodding, she opened her mouth and dumped the bunch in. “Don’t chew.”

            “Ah–” the Knight stopped her teeth as one or two popped, but most remained intact. Then she tried to swallow them. It was like when Knight-Captain Cade gave her pills. She hated taking pills.

            “Here,” he lifted a water skin and let her drink it. As she did so he brushed the hair that was falling into her face away. It could have been taken for more than it was, but he didn’t tuck it behind her ear or anything.

            Reagan handed him the skin and he nodded. “Okay, now what?”

            “Shift.”

            Her shoulders slumped. “I don’t–”

            “Shift, Spadetail.”

            “Fine,” her breath left her and she turned away from him. “I’m stripping first… so we don’t run into the same problem as last time.”

            “That’s fine.”

            Reagan turned her back to him and started pulling her clothes off. The landscape was wide and open, they were high in the hills with cliffs on one side and drops on the other. The grass was patchy in the heavily rocked landscape, but what there was was nice to look at, long, thin stalks of green. So unlike what she saw in the Commonwealth.

            When she turned back around, Thorbjorn was watching her, his silver eyes careful. Briefly, she wondered where his thoughts were now. Then she cleared her throat and took a deep breath. Forcing yourself to relax… something she had a little bit of practice with.

            A smirk tugged at her lips at that thought. How different this was from anal.

            “What has you laughing?”

            A snort left her nose and Reagan covered her face, “Nothing, nothing, I’m… focusing. I promise.”

            When she looked up, she caught him taking a step forward, falling into his beast form. The white wolf looked at her expectantly, and she sighed, rolling her shoulders before she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

 

 

            _When they opened, everything was different._

_The white wolf was more. About him was_ Alpha _, and she knew she would listen to anything he said. He wouldn’t ask her to do anything she wasn’t comfortable with, though, she knew this now._

_Her trust was in him completely._

_The male stepped forward, brushing his pale muzzle over hers. She took in a slow breath while he shifted around her, his body rubbing up against her. Her coat was similar to his, but rather than white, was golden, and dark markings around her muzzle and paws._

_As the Alpha circled her, she turned her nose up to the wind and caught the faint scent of people. Two of them. A male… and female._

_She was off, her attention locked on the scents, following them over the hills and under bushes. Nothing else entered her mind._

_Her body stopped her when they were in sight. Just in front of her, a leap away, and neither had noticed her. Her body lowered, and her eyes narrowed. She could stalk closer and be on them both before either could get away, maybe even call out._

_The male first. By the look of the female she was not the fighting sort._

_A growl came from behind her, and she turned just as her prey did to see the Alpha, watching her with bared teeth and golden eyes like a flame. Her own lips drew back and she warned him not to come closer._

_Her gaze fell back on the prey._

_The male lifted a bow, but his hands shook as he commanded of the female. She was on her feet and running, but she kept looking back. Good, that means she’ll see this…_

_The golden wolf leapt forward as the arrow loosed. She didn’t even feel it hit her, but he most definitely felt her hit him. His bones crunched and she could smell blood before she even opened her mouth to take a bite out of his shoulder._

_A howl sounded behind her and part of her tried to pull away from the man, but she couldn’t. No, he tasted so_ good _._

_Her mind clouded and Reagan used her paws to open his chest so she could find his heart. That beautiful muscle was what she truly wanted._

_A scream from the female reminded her she couldn’t dally if she wanted them both, but just as her lips caught the strings of the male’s heart, her Alpha was on her, knocking her to the ground away from the body._

_Growls and snarls left her and she kicked hard at the larger wolf. He swiped at her paws to knock them away, but never harmed her. She knew he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t_ dare _._

_So she used that and kicked him in the jaw. The Alpha went sideways and rubbed his face. This allowed the golden female to run after the prey. She leapt and the prey crumpled to the ground under her with broken legs. The snapping of bone and release of blood made her lips pull back in a grin and she buried her face in the female’s back._

_Screams filled her ears, louder and higher than that of the male’s._

_It took a moment, but she managed to work through the ribs and spine, breaking the bones with her teeth and claws. When she got to the heart, she took it carefully with her teeth and lifted her head, tipping it back so that she muscle pulsed in her mouth a few times before her maw closed on it, spraying blood, dripping it down her throat._

_It tasted so good, like eating for the first time in days._

_Her ears fell back though, and her body stiffened as something occurred to her._

_Her golden gaze flicked to the Alpha. But he was gone, instead, a man stood there, a frown on his face as he stared at her with sad, silver eyes._

_“Damn it, Spadetail…”_

_Her eyes fell to her red stained paws, and then her breathing began to pick up._

_What… what had she just done?_

_A whimper left her, and she looked up at the man. Control started to come back, and the memory of what happened began to fade, but it didn’t get the scent of blood out of her nose, the taste of heart off her tongue, or the sticky, dripping crimson off her hands._

_Reagan crumpled, the beast pushed away harshly as she took back control over herself._

 

 

            “What did I…?” her eyes landed on the woman beside her. She sat right beside the pool of blood that hadn’t yet seeped into the earth. The woman was staring widely at nothing, a scream frozen on her lips. She could almost hear it. How it’d made the beast so happy. “I think I’m going to…” Reagan turned and got onto all fours. Her stomach heaved and she threw up. Acid, chunks, blood, muscle, berries. It was all mixed together and the stench made her throw up again.

            Thorbjorn was there, holding her hair out of the way, a hand on her shoulder to keep her from falling face first into the disgusting mess. “I should have stopped you…”

            “I…” her eyes lifted to the man and everything went blurry as she tried to see through the moisture coating her vision. “I killed them… and… _ate_ …”

            “Shh,” Thorbjorn pulled her up to sit back on her heels. She ignored as rocks in the hard terrain bit into her legs. “Come, we’ll go back to the manor and get you cleaned up.”

            “Just a second,” she coughed and threw up again, the chunks this time surely had to be the last of it.

 

 

            Reagan hit the bed hard and buried her face in the stack of pillows. “I kill two people…”

            “That was my fault.”

            Her eyes stung, and Reagan rolled over to look at Thorbjorn as he stood in the doorway. She shook her head, rubbing her face roughly with her palm. “No, it’s on me, I couldn’t stop myself, Rex.”

            “I shouldn’t have let you get so far ahead of me–”

            “I _ate them_!”

            The sob tore out of her so harshly, it shocked even her. Thorbjorn came forward and climbed into the bed beside her. In the time it’d taken her to come up to her room, shower, and then hit the bed dressed in a sleeping gown, he’d changed out of his armor into a loose fitting shirt and short pants.

            “I _ate_ them and I _liked_ it!” she cried and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to him. His heat was comforting, the hard muscle under his shirt almost familiar. The smell of the forest eased her spine, made it easier for her to relax as she curled up in his lap.

            “It wasn’t you, Spadetail, it was your beast. Don’t forget that, you and it are different,” he spoke into her hair as his hands rubbed her shoulder and back. She hadn’t felt so comfortable since coming to Skyrim.

            “What… what if I hurt Sebastian?” she managed to choke out. It was a real threat, now that his warnings had been confirmed, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself.

            “That’s why I’m helping you,” he said softly. “Your beast won’t hurt him, I swear.”

            She swallowed hard and nodded, letting her tears wet his shirt as he held her protectively. Something about this felt right, better than she would have thought. Curled up in his arms like this comforted her more than she could admit out loud.

            It should feel wrong, though, being in the arms of someone other than Sebastian. But she couldn’t find a fiber of her being to protest. It wasn’t that she didn’t want Danse here, she just… liked having Thorbjorn here.

            “You should sleep.”

            “Will you stay? I’ve… been having nightmares.” Since she got the curse, her nights had been nothing but dreams of what happened today, and she didn’t think she could handle waking up in the middle of the night to an empty bed, panting and sweating. She pulled away to look up at him and Thorbjorn nodded once and leaned in, forehead pressed to hers.

            It wasn’t romantic, it _really_ wasn’t. It was something more than that, and it made her heart leap and her muscles relax. It was like he was giving her some of his strength and she needed every ounce of it.

            “Anything you need, Spadetail.”

            Thorbjorn pulled the blanket back and helped her get under it, and then he stood up and put out some of the candles lighting the space, but left the brazier burning for a soft glow as well as some heat. When he returned to the bed, he rested above the covers and slipped an arm under her pillow, holding her to his chest with a gentle hand over her side.

            His palm was right above her belly, and Reagan felt her heart stammer. She pretended he was Danse. Without him looking at her, he almost felt right. How much she missed that brown-eyed man with the voluminous black hair. She wondered if he’d embraced any of Skyrim’s customs yet and traded his uniform for their clothes and armor. What was he doing? Had he gotten her letter yet?

            Was he looking for her?

            Without thinking, her fingers found Thorbjorn’s, and they interlaced over her stomach. His were too long to be mistaken for Danse’s, and didn’t have the right callus, but she ignored that, and imagined it was her Paladin laying at her back.

            “Good night, Rex.”

            “Rest well, Spadetail.”

            A dreamless sleep blessed Reagan that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh.


	12. In the Dark of the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team finds Rothruin Andir, and he seems quite promising, but they get a bit of a rocky start off in Winterhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the Dark of the Night ~Anastasia

**Danse**

            “Archmage Andir _just_ returned from his quest, he shall be with you within the hour,” a young dark elf woman said. Well, she appeared young. Danse couldn’t be sure how old she was based on his limited knowledge of elves.

            “Tell him the new Dragonborn awaits, and your Master should not keep him waiting,” Vilkas said without looking her way, eyes on the glowing tree in the receiving room of the Archmage’s quarters. The space was large, and had more books than Danse could count littering the shelves. And those bookcases also had numerous alchemic ingredients sitting out, ready for use.

            It was with those, that MacCready had his hands full, trying to keep Duncan from grabbing strange things and putting them in his mouth. Finally the sniper settled on just holding the child and standing an arm’s length from anything and anyone.

            “Of course, and… who might that be?” red eyes shifted to Danse, and then away from him and he followed her gaze to Argis.

            The blonde nord folded his arms. “That matter doesn’t concern you, apprentice. Simply tell your master we seek his haste.”

            “Aye,” her tone implied sarcasm as the nord word well from her lips. She departed from them with a flourish of her cape, her robes making her strides more dramatic.

            “Believe it or not, the dark ones are my favorite,” Vilkas said lowly, a sly smile threatening his lips. “It’s the gold ones you have to watch out for.”

            “Rothruin isn’t like the rest of his people,” Argis sighed and found a seat, pushing it to the side with his boot so he could sit in it. Then he folded his arms over his armored chest. “He was raised a nord, even shares our words. Stick a helmet on him and you can’t tell he wasn’t born from the loins of a true daughter of Skyrim.”

            Vilkas snorted, “That’s why he is here? How many true sons of Skyrim allow witchcraft to do their fighting for them?” The dark nord picked up something that looked like a giant toe, and turned it over in his hand before placing it back down. “He is altmer, and will always be.”

            “You wound me, Vilkas of the Companions.” Danse spun around as a wooden door slid shut with a whisper. The man standing in front of it was armored in shadow and onyx, looking dangerous as he held his chin up and looked down at those around him with orange eyes, just shades different from his maroon hair. His skin was just as Vilkas had said, golden like the coins they used for currency.

            “Should use some of your magic to heal that then,” the Companion stepped up to him and offered his hand. The high elf was nearly a head taller than him and grinned widely, taking hold of Vilkas’ forearm in a firm shake. It was odd to Danse that they could speak as they did but still seem as if they were reuniting old friends.

            “What can I do for the new Dragonborn?” his orange eyes flicked between the men before him, pausing on Argis. “And may I ask what happened to the other?”

            “She is away.”

            “Obviously. We would not require a new one if she were still with us,” Rothruin stepped around them all and placed his helmet on the table beside Argis. Danse looked at it, it was a full face, only allowing visibility out of a slot across the eyes, and had ornamental flares coming off the face in a near wing like fashion. The black was decorated with silvery lines to match the rest of his armor. Danse had to admit, he liked that armor set.

            “She lives, last we had word. She is doing well, may even be married.”

            “Her time as come and gone,” the high elf nodded and then looked from MacCready to Vilkas, and then he tilted his head at Danse. “It’s your turn now, aye?”

            “You can tell?”

            “You’re new to the power you wield, I can see it on you –like a boy that just received his father’s sword. You’re hesitant, but willing.” He nodded once, “That is good. You will be needed in the coming events.”

            “Coming events?” Argis frowned.

            “Aye, the vampires have grown in power, and I fear they have a goal besides wrecking our villages and feeding. They’ve become more organized, especially since Dragonborn Skaddi left us.” The high elf turned around and Danse got to see the huge battleaxe on his back. The long handle had been visible, stretching tall above his head, but now Sebastian knew just what it belonged to. It appeared to be the same material and style as the armor he had, black with silver designs. And there was still crimson lining the blade.

            “We have seen some of these attacks,” Danse spoke up and Vilkas nodded.

            “The man near lost his lady to the leeches.”

            Rothruin wrinkled his nose and sighed, “Then you know we must contact the Dawnguard.”

            “Dawnguard?” Argis stood then, eyes narrowing.

            “Aye, the vampire hunters. They have a castle just east of Riften,” the high elf started, but the Companion cut him off with a waving hand.

            “No, no, we came here to contract your aid in finding the Lady Reagan. She’s been given the beast blood and we must track her before she finds trouble she cannot get herself out of.” At the mention of the curse, the high elf narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, attention focused on Vilkas.

            “Do you not share the blood? Can’t you track her with your hound nose?”

            Vilkas’ nasal bridge wrinkled, tugging at his lip, “I’ve been cured. How you learned of my curse, I should like to know.”

            “There are many tomes on these shelves, many as old and older than the Companions.” He shrugged, gesturing vaugly, and then eyed the dark nord, “How long have you been free?”

            “That doesn’t concern you.”

            Argis stood up and cleared his throat just as Danse shifted. “We came with intent to pay for your services, Rothruin,” the housecarl said calmly, and dropped the coin purse on the table that had the dragon’s bounty filling it to near busting.

            His orange eyes flicked down to Danse, completely ignoring the coin, “Is this woman truly yours?”

            “She is, and… she carries my child,” he confessed and watched the elf nod once, his wide lips frowning. Orange eyes briefly flitted to the coin, but he closed them to seem to focus himself.

            “I’ll help, on the condition you lend your arm to the Dawnguard to finish this vampire menace. I have lost too many students to them as we try to protect this city from attack.” Rothruin stuck his arm out. There was a brief hesitation. Danse hadn’t wanted to join a cause he didn’t know, but he didn’t know if there was another way to get this mage’s help. By how he looked at the coin he was tempted, but it seemed an old weakness, one he was getting over and could no longer drive him. Aiding the Dawnguard would give this former soldier the best chance to find Reagan if the map was no true. He couldn’t pass this up, not without coming to regret it later.

            Danse gripped it just as he’d seen Vilkas do. “I will join the Dawnguard once I have Reagan safe by my side.”

            “Let’s get started then, shall we?” Rothruin straightened up and smiled widely. “I’ll get my supplies ready, and we’ll head out at first light.”

            “We’ll stay at the inn in town then,” Argis started but the high elf shook his head.

            “No, you’ll stay here, I’ll show you to your beds.”

            The beds were where the students stayed, and since some beds were empty, Danse and his team had enough choices to pick among themselves where to sleep. He allowed the others to decide before him, and MacCready quickly took Duncan to the farthest room from the entrance. Vilkas and Argis took opposite rooms on either side of the entry, and Danse decided to take the room beside the housecarl.

            Dropping his bag, he pulled out the map and sat down as he unfolded it, looking over to the last place he’d seen Reagan’s R and noticed he had moved near a city called Markarth, it was currently outside the line drawn to be the walls, appearing to put her in the landscape to the north of it.

            “Where is she?”

            Danse jumped and looked up at Vilkas in the open doorway to his room. “Um, a city called… Markarth?”

            “Ah, the City of Stone,” he nodded and came forward to look upside down at the map. “It’s… not a good city for those with pure hearts. Blood and silver flow like water there.”

            “Comforting. Shouldn’t we be headed out now? Not waiting until morning?” His hopeful brown gaze flicked up to the nord and Vilkas shook his head.

            “No, brother, we need the light when the snow falls so thickly. With the mage, though, we will be on the constant path to your woman, in real time,” he frowned at the paper. “There may be a delay, or she is not truly there…”

            “Yeah,” Sebastian rubbed his forehead and folded the map up. “I… just want her safe.”

            “I know,” Vilkas placed a hand on Danse’s shoulder and the former paladin looked up, meeting the pale blue stare. “We’ll have her in your arms soon, brother. Don’t lose yourself.”

            Danse stood up and they stood face to face for a moment. Vilkas didn’t care that he was a synth, that he wasn’t born from the womb of a human mother. He called him brother and left his home to travel with him. He treated him just as good and better than the soldiers in the Brotherhood had before he learned what he was.

            Emotion swelled in his chest and his face twisted. “Thank you, brother.” He never thought he’d say those words again. The Companion tilted his head and reached up, holding Sebastian by the back of his head to pull him forward, pressing their foreheads together.

            “No one has earned my respect as quick as you.” The nord closed his eyes and Danse looked over his face. He was a few years younger, but not much, not as young as Reagan. He wore his age in the purse of his lips and the lines beside his eyes, normally darkly painted, but it was faded now, nearly the same shade as the dirt.

            The Companion’s hand on the back of his head shifted, his fingers running through Danse’s hair. It was a touch only Reagan had given him, one that he wasn’t used to, but it felt good. His own eyes shut and he relaxed some in Vilkas’ embrace. It reminded him of his time with Cutler, before he died –before he was turned into a monster and had to be destroyed.

            Sebastian’s hand rested on the Companion’s neck, his fingers brushing over the soft strains of hair that hung past the nape of his neck. With his eyes closed, he almost was more aware of the other man. Heat rolled off of him like a flame, and his skin was hot to the touch. They both had been sweating despite the cold on their way here, and now the smell of it mixed with their natural scents.

            Vilkas had a hint of forest under the pungent aroma that managed to fill the former paladin’s nasal passages. And something else. Almost, fire?

            Danse shifted, then, feeling the comforting embrace having lasted too long. But the Companion tilted his face, and his hand at the back of Sebastian’s pulled him closer. Their noses brushed together and then pressed into each other’s cheeks as their lips met.

            For only a second, their mouths met, fitting together almost as well as his and Reagan’s did. But it was wrong, and had him jerking back away from Vilkas with a start and raised hands.

            “I didn’t–” Danse started and the Companion lifted his chin, pale blue eyes narrowing in embarrassment as he winced.

            “No, brother, I…” he cleared his throat and wet his lips, looking down at the floor. “I apologize,” the words were grunted as he turned, eyes still downcast, and he marched out of the room, stepping around the blonde nord in the doorway.

            Danse stared at Argis as the housecarl turned to watch Vilkas’ retreat, and then turned his good eye on the former paladin. “Won’t lie… I wasn’t expecting that.”

            Sebastian cleared his throat and looked down at his bed, shame filling his face. He should have stepped away sooner. Why hadn’t he? Was he so desperate for contact now that he’d betray Reagan?

            Anger boiled in his chest and he took a deep, slow breath. Argis turned away, pausing as he said, “You should get some rest: we’ll be leaving early. Don’t know when we’ll have another bed.” Then he was gone, and Danse gritted his teeth while stripping out of his armor to prepare for bed.

 

 

            _Reagan was crying, her face buried in her hands as she sobbed, bent over an extended belly that was home to his baby. He couldn’t move as he watched her cry, her tears leaking between her fingers to trail down her arms. She was wearing her Brotherhood of Steel uniform and had her brown hair tied back in a bun so that she could wear her hood and helmet._

_They were in the Commonwealth… no, they were on the Prydwen, but they were in Skyrim. And Vilkas stood beside him, frowning down at her in pity. Danse didn’t know what to do, or say, but he couldn’t stand the sight of her like this. He reached forward to touch her shoulder and the ex-Knight shot to her feet and bared her teeth at him menacingly, her eyes catching the light so they reflected like a hound’s._

_“Don’t touch me you_ cheater _!” she screamed and people without faces turned to look, staring without eyes. Danse didn’t look at them and he shook his head._

_“I didn’t want it, Reagan–” he started and she shook her head so much her bun fell out and her brown hair fell to her shoulders, and past._

_“That’s why I had to learn from Argis! Because you didn’t want me to_ know _!”_

_“I was going to tell you–”_

_“When?” she snapped, those teeth of hers growing to look more like a wolf’s._

_“I… I didn’t know how to. It was just one kiss, I ended it–”_

_“So why are you still traveling with him?” she howled, throwing her arms down at her side to slap her thighs. Her golden eyes were red-rimmed and her thick lashes were clumped from salty tears._

_“I needed to find you.”_

_“Why? What am I to you?” she stepped close enough to put her face in his and Vilkas shifted, folding his arms to look as if he’d remove her if needed. “Just a baby maker?”_

_“Never, Reagan,” he reached up to hold her face and she slapped his hands away._

_“Don’t touch me!”_

_“Reagan, you’re my world,” he tried and she shook her head._

_“I can’t do this anymore. I thought–” she looked at Vilkas and then down at the space between her and Danse. “I thought you were better than other men, Sebastian. But you’re not, you’re just as bad.”_

_He felt like it was a strike right to his heart. He wanted to be human so bad, but he wanted to be the best of humanity, not… this._

_“Reagan, I’m so sorry,” he tried to reach for her again. She loved when he held her. But she didn’t let him. Instead, she swatted his hands away and leaned forward, so quickly he couldn’t move, and bit into his neck._

_It hurt, the tearing of his flesh was so intense he woke up–_

–and was staring at the ceiling of the College of Winterhold while someone pinned him to the bed.

            Danse threw his legs and fists, knocking his attacker off. He had been biting him, right in the neck, and was… feeding off of him. Quickly, the Dragonborn got to his feet and threw his fists into the man with the glowing eyes. A vampire.

            The leech was fast though, and caught the former paladin’s fist when he went in for another swing. Danse opened his mouth to alert the others, but his throat was closed, and with that he realized he couldn’t breathe.

            The vampire grabbed him by the neck and lifted him off the ground. His lips were bloodstained and thin, curling back over wretched looking fangs. He was shorter than his prey, but that didn’t stop him from getting the former soldier off his feet. He appeared to be a dark elf, like the woman, but was far, far older based on the lines creasing his face.

            Thrashing, Danse threw his feet out hard and kicked the man with enough force to send them both to the ground. When he hit, a yelp slipped out of his tight throat, but he was quick to crawl over to his laser rifle.

            When his fingers wrapped around it, the leech was over him, his foot coming down hard on Sebastian’s hand, breaking the small bones within. This time the cry that left was hoarse, but loud.

            Danse’s left hand came up and backhanded the predator, surprising him long enough to allow him to grab his rifle again and get Righteous Authority up, aimed, and fired at the bloodsucker’s head.

            The vampire’s baldhead whipped back and he stumbled back a step before smacking into the wall and dropping.

            Right about now, Sebastian’s vision started to blur, and he touched his neck, realizing that the hole went right through into his trachea. What had the vampire even been doing? It was like he wanted to choke him, keep him from saying anything.

            _Shouting_.

            He was keeping him from Shouting. But how did he know?

            Touching his throat again, Danse tried to think of something. Slow, calm breaths were impossible, even if he could focus. He felt the sting in his chest, the burning in his lungs, and his face began to get hot and full of pressure.

            He couldn’t focus anymore and he just grasped at his neck and kicked his feet, trying to knock something over to bring attention to him while his vision tunneled.

            Black, pain, and the thunderous sound of his own heart pumping his blood into his neck finally took over.

            Only to be pushed away by a cool, golden light.

            Sebastian’s eyes were open, but the black tunnel faded away to see only the sun, bright and welcoming. His lips parted and air fell into his mouth. Following the soft breath was a full on gasp, and he lurched forward, hand grasping for the source of his aid.

            He found the strong arm of a man in flowing robes, and quickly, tried to focus his attention passed the light of the healing, to the high elf face. Rothruin’s orange eyes were wide, flitting over each of the details of Danse’s form before he stood up, bringing the wounded man with him.

            He said something, but Danse couldn’t understand, he shook his head and then realized Reagan’s holotags weren’t around his neck anymore. He turned away from Rothruin weakly, touching his chest and neck before gesturing to the chain on the ground beside his bed. The high elf stepped around him and grabbed the necklace then handed it to Danse.

            “…have known better.”

            Danse looked up as the chain circled his head and the high elf’s words became clear. “What…?”

            “The vampires attack, there are… many dead and wounded,” Rothruin’s face was stricken with pain and the Dragonborn wondered if he’d lost someone close to him.

            “What of my team?” Rothruin’s gaze locked on the space between them. Danse’s heart hammered and he felt a wave of nausea take over. He started shaking his head, backing up to go check on those in the other rooms.

            Crying and groans came from the outside his room, touching his ears now that he was stable enough to walk. When he turned around, looking away from Rothruin, he realized just how many vampires had come, and that his had been nothing impressive. Blood and bodies littered the lobby of the sleeping quarters, and in the sea of faces, Danse couldn’t see any he knew.

            And then his heart stopped, falling to the ground as he met the glazed stare of familiar eyes.

            “I wasn’t fast enough, Dragonborn…. I’m so sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please direct all thoughts and comments to the text box below. 
> 
> I'm terribly sorry I feel no regret for the outcome of this chapter (Sorry not Sorry)


	13. To Be Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There are a lot of things you’ve done since ‘hello’ that I could arrest you for, but,” he stopped a foot before her, looking down at her carefully, “I’m not going to do that.”  
> “Why?”  
> “Because, we’re of the same pack, and that would only upset the Alpha.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Be Fair ~Beauty and the Beast

**Reagan**

            Reagan had just settled into the chair in front of the fire with her fingers laced around a warm, steel tankard of tea, when a knock echoed through the empty home. Her ear perked at the noise, now her mind focused on listening for who was outside.

            Mjovanir and Thorbjorn had gone to the market to get some food and supplies, as well as check in to see if anyone had found the bodies that she’d…

            They had only just left half an hour ago, and there was no way they would knock on their own door. Her pale brows drew together and Reagan tilted her head so that her fading brown hair fell over her shoulder and she could pick up more easily what was happening on the other side of the giant metal door.

            A whisper of chainmail clinking together was all she could make out. Chainmail? Most armors seemed to have some sort of it, but she knew who wore the most. Standing, Reagan hurried over to the door and held her breath as she opened it, keeping her mind on the large breakfast she’d had this morning.

            “Hello?”

            The man in the doorway was a handful of years her senior, dressed in green cloaked guard’s armor, and had his helmet tucked under his arm. He was a tall thing, she looked right into his chest, but he wasn’t by any means lanky. No, he was lean but still filled out his armor enough to make her think twice about starting a fight with him. His hair was flattened from wearing his helmet, but looked feathery to the touch by the blonde wisps along the top. He wore is similar to how many Brotherhood soldiers wore it, shaved on the sides, but he left the back as well, giving him a different look than most nords she’d seen.

            But all this she took in, in only a moment. Because then his scent hit her and she met his silver gaze.

            Her lips drew back to show her teeth and he shifted, bowing his head. It was a movement that Thorbjorn had done once when she showed her fangs at him, and she knew it was a warning as his brows sunk heavily and his shoulders rolled.

            “What do you want?” she snapped. He smelled like honey, and… warmth. It was odd to think about, but she could smell the heat radiating off of him, and with it the faint scent of honey that clung to his skin.

            He stepped forward and she slammed the door shut, but his boot kicked out, wedged into it so that she couldn’t close it all the way and lock it. A hiss left her and she pushed as hard as she could against the door, listening to the sound of his steel plated boot whine under the pressure of the door and his own grunts to push it back open.

            “There was a man and wife killed by a beast in the hills,” he growled into the crack. He couldn’t gain an inch on her leverage.

            “That so? Maybe it was you, dog–”

            “You call me ‘dog’ when you share the blood? You must be a youngling,” he barked with a laugh and pressed harder. “Where is Thorbjorn? Why are you in his home?”

            “I’m a guest,” she growled and reached over to the shelf beside the door, grabbing a bowl of flowers. Then she flung it into the gap of the door at about where his face was, splashing water and moist dirt onto him as well as the mountain flowers. Suddenly the force against the door gave, and it slammed shut with her weight against it.

            Quickly she locked it and backed up, looking for something to barricade it. Then the lock moved, and the door slid open. Reagan gaped at the guard who calmly stepped in, put his helmet down where the bowl of flowers had been, and looked at her with a lifted brow.

            “Now, that was a bit rude, why don’t you say sorry?”

            “Going to arrest me for assaulting an officer?” she snapped and the guard sighed, keeping his silver gaze steadily locked on her face as he closed the door behind him and started coming forward.

            “There are a lot of things you’ve done since ‘hello’ that I could arrest you for, but,” he stopped a foot before her, looking down at her carefully, “I’m not going to do that.”

            “Why?”

            “Because, we’re of the same pack, and that would only upset the Alpha.”

            Her heart flipped, and then her stomach followed suit. “You’re… with Rex–er, Thorbjorn?”

            “Aye,” he nodded and lifted his chin to look around her. “Where is Mjovanir?”

            “They went to the market.”

            “Why did they leave you?” he eyed her with a narrowed gaze and she crossed her arms. She was only wearing a house gown, a simple thing that was little more than a robe, but it was comfortable. Like when she got to wear sweatpants and a tank around the Prydwen. Though, right now she wished she had something between her thighs, she couldn’t stand skirts.

            “The… meat makes me…” her cheeks redened and the guard’s silver eyes warmed some with understanding.

            “Ah, very new,” he breathed and lifted a hand to her chin to tilt her face up. “How long?”

            She swatted his hand away and curled her upper lip. “Uh… like a week or two? I’m… not really sure, everything sort of blurs together.”

            He nodded, “You’ve been working with Thorbjorn to control it?”

            “Yeah,” she nodded and then narrowed her eyes at him, “What about you? I don’t know who you are and Thor’s never mentioned another member of his pack.”

            “It’s just the two of us –well, three now. I don’t travel with him, instead I stay here to protect Mjovanir and keep an eye on the Reach since the vampires. He’s been seeking out a way to drive them back, they’re getting far too powerful…. And brave.”

            “I’ve been attacked by more than one,” she sighed and remembered that Thorbjorn had saved her while she was being attacked by the bloodsuckers. “That was… when he turned me, actually.”

            That seemed to catch his attention and he leaned forward, pressing his nose to her hair and she jumped back. “You’re with child?”

            “Yeah, and keep your nose away from me,” she growled, her fingers digging into her arms.

            “Is it Thorbjorn’s?”

            “No,” she shook her head, nose wrinkling. “He… turned me because I was pregnant…”

            “And being attacked?” he huffed and looked toward the fire she’d previously been curled up near. “Of course he would.”

            “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            “Thorbjorn… does what he thinks is right,” was the vague answer that the man gave her before stepping around her and made a beeline for the kitchen.

            “What’re you doing? You still haven’t told me who you are,” she snapped and followed behind. “How do I know that you’re not some… rival of Thor’s?”

            “Would a rival have a key to his home?” he looked back at her and lifted a brow.

            “Maybe you’re a thief too,” she shrugged and his nose twitched at that. His eyes hardened and she realized that questioning a nord’s honor was a surefire way to piss one off. But she held her ground and kept a keen eye on his face as he gave her another once over and then went to the cupboard to withdraw a bowl and cup. She didn’t even know where that stuff was –despite Mjovanir telling her at least twice.

            “I am no thief,” he stated and then plucked some apples from a basket beside the window. “Never have I stolen in my life.” He had a shield on his back that was like none she’d seen before, golden and turquoise, in the shape of… wings? Sort of? Folded on his back, but still, the thing was large enough that even he could take cover behind it. She was sure it weighed enough to wear her out if she tried. A sword to match hung on his hip, held there by a loop on his belt. She could see the edge, and was surprised at how sharp it looked, like broken glass along the edge.

            The nord turned to face her and she noticed he’d cored and sliced the apples and added some grapes to the bowl as well. “Just make yourself at home then,” she grimaced and he drew his brows together.

            “These are for both of us, unless you’re not hungry,” he stepped around her and headed toward the stairs to take him up a floor and give him view of the city.

            Reagan huffed a sigh and grabbed her tea, then followed him up. The guard welcomed himself to a seat on the balcony that let him see everything around and below. He’d already finished two slices of apples and was plucking grapes as he waited for her. “So, what’s your name?”

            “You first.”

            “I don’t think so,” she glared and put her tea down on the ornate patio table. Her gaze locked on his face, despite him staring off into the distance. He flicked a grape into his mouth and settled back in his chair, almost stubbornly. A snort abruptly left her nose and Reagan plopped down into the other patio chair with folded arms. “Two can play at that game, buddy.”

            “Buddy?”

            “Yeah, maybe I’ll call you ‘Bud’ for short.”

            “Then perhaps I will call you Jarrin? Shortened from Jarrin Root,” he tilted his head over to her, letting it remain cocked to the side. When he did this his hair shifted and he ran a hand through it to keep it back from his face.

            “How does that compare with Spadetail?” she lifted a brow and his face blanked with surprise before he smirked and shifted in his seat.

            “Spadetail is more of a compliment,” he chuckled and rubbed his nearly clean shaven jaw.

            “What does it mean?”

            He looked her over with narrowed eyes, “Does Thorbjorn call you Spadetail?”

            “Yeah,” she nodded, sitting forward and he smiled.

            “Then he should tell you.”

            Irritation flushed her face and Reagan ran her fingers through her hair, scratching at the paling roots. “Fine, whatever, when he gets here he’ll tell me who you are.”

            “I’ll tell you who I am, only if you start,” he tipped his head back to look down at her some.

            “I don’t believe you, sorry, Bud.”

            His nose wrinkled again, and he turned his silver eyes out at the morning sky. “A storm’s coming…”

            “Yeah?” she frowned at the change in subject. “So why did you come here?”

            “I come to check on Mjovanir while Thorbjorn is away. I was not aware he was home.” The nord picked up another slice of apple then slid the bowl to her. “Who is the father?”

            Reagan let the question sit between them as she picked through the green slices for a red one and bit it in half. “You wouldn’t know him.”

            “I may if he lives near,” the guard glanced her way. “I have seen much of the Reach and some of what lies beyond her borders.”

            “He’s never been to the Reach,” she said and snagged the rest of the grape vine.

            Bud got the idea that if he wasn’t going to give her answers, he wasn’t going to get them, so he nodded and shifted in his seat. “Do you know when they’re do–”

            The front door clicked with the use of keys, and then flew open. Reagan stood up and went to the top of the staircase, stopping suddenly. When she did so, she felt a hand grab her shoulder. Just when she was about to growl at him for the contact, she realized he wasn’t looking at her, but passed her, and it seemed to be a reflex, keeping her from continuing down the stairs or falling.

            The guard guided her back and then started down the steps with a slow pace and then relaxed as the ‘intruders’ made themselves known.

            “Thorbjorn, Mjovanir!” he opened his arms and came forward. Reagan slowly descended the stairs, watching as the nords she knew smiled and greeted the guard.

            “Wulfjar, it’s been too long, brother,” the other blonde nord showed his teeth in a wolfish grin. Their foreheads came together as they spoke, something Reagan had not seen before. “What brings you to me?” They parted, but remained close, like brothers.

            “Simply came to see the lady,” his silver eyes flicked to Mjovanir who rolled her eyes with too much exaggeration and shook her head, going to the kitchen with the baskets of food they had.

            “Wulfjar, huh?” Reagan voiced, arms crossed as the two nord men seemed to finally take notice of her.

            “Aye, and you are…?” Wulfjar looked over to Thorbjorn who smiled.

            “Spadetail to me.”

            “Jarrin to me then,” the guard chuckled. The Alpha laughed, the sound erupting like a vertibird coming to life.

            “My, brother, that one I forgot, suits her some, I think,” now they both turned silver eyes on her and she just smiled back.

            “Teaming up on me then, yeah? All right, Bud and Rex it is then,” she waved to them according to their name and both men looked each other over as if asking if they knew what their names meant. Both shrugged and smiled back at her in unison.

            “That’s it then,” Bud nodded and gestured to the kitchen. “I’ll help prepare the meal.”

            “No, Wulfjar, that’s fine–”

            “Relax, brother,” he placed his hand on the other man’s shoulder and lifted his chin. “Besides, I can smell your worry.”

            Now that he mentioned it, Reagan noticed it as well. There was something about his air, she’d never smelled it before. That had to be what it was.

            “I have need to speak with Spadetail,” he said casually, to which Wulfjar nodded. Then Thor added, “And we may not return until late tonight.”

            “Return?” her attention was seized.

            “Aye, there is a quest in the Keep I wish to tend to. It will make your travels through the market easier should we… complete it.” At that, Wulfjar stiffened and took a step back.

            “You mean to go after the–”

            “Aye,” Thorbjorn cut him off and sighed. “Come with me, Spadetail.” She followed him upstairs to the same chairs that she and the guard had sat at.

            “What’s happening?”

            “There are people who… eat humans,” he said slowly and she nodded, frowning.

            “Cannibals.”

            “Aye,” he cleared his throat and looked out at the city below, eyes narrowing. “There are many in this city. Some with ideal standings,” he said carefully.

            “Like who?”

            He sighed and rubbed at his forehead, wiping away the paint on it and between his brows. “I know of three by name for sure. I could smell it on them today. Lisbet of the Arnleif and Sons Trading Company, Hogni Red-Arm at the meat market stand, and Banning the hound breeder by the stalls.”

            “So important,” she frowned.

            “Lisbet owns the general good store in the market, right near the front gate,” he explained. “She has the biggest store. It’s not doing well now since her husband passed, but she’s on the incline. She has the Silver-Bloods at her back but they don’t own the store. If something were to happen to her, though, they would take over the company, and monopolize the trade within Markarth.”

            “The Silver-Bloods?”

            “Aye, the… family that rivals mine. Now I am the last and they have many,” he frowned. She knew what being the last of your name could do to a man, she’d watched Arthur grow up with the knowledge he was the last Maxson. But it was different with Thorbjorn, this was all new, something recent happened to his family to make him the sole bearer of his name.

            “What if you took over the store? Or supported someone to do it?” she asked and he nodded once.

            “I planned on it, but even so, we still have Hogni in the market who is the primary butcher within the city walls. With him gone, you’ll have _many_ citizens upset, and the Silver-Bloods will use that.” He sighed and paced some.

            “Same deal, find someone to take his place,” she offered and Thorbjorn paused to look at her.

            “Do you think I have enough gold to support these traders? I have no income, Spadetail,” he growled and turned to face her. “Every day my finances are chipped away more and more. One, _one_ I might be able to do, but not both, not three, and those three are so far, the only shops that keep Markarth from truly belonging to the Silver-Bloods. They have most of the guard in their pockets, most of the shops, and any citizen who speaks against them ends up in Cidhna Mine or dead in the rivers outside the city!”

            “What has kept you alive?”

            He stared her down until she looked at the floor between them. “Because I spend little time here, and I do not openly oppose them.” His voice was clear, and emotionless and she nodded once.

            “I’m sorry.”

            “Don’t be. I seek to kill the head of the cannibalistic group that plagues this city and hope with them dead, the flock will scatter.”

            “What keeps them from… getting a new leader among themselves?”

            At that Thorbjorn sat down and put his face in his hands. Instinctively, Reagan went to him and knelt down, running her fingers through his hair until he looked at her.

            “We’ll see how it pans out, how about that? Maybe we can…” she frowned and sat back on her heels, withdrawing her touch. “I don’t know, Rex, maybe we can solve this another way?”

            He stood up and she followed. “All right.”

            “How about we go tomorrow? We can bring Bud and use his guard status to get us some leeway, yeah?” She brushed his hair out of his face and offered him a smile. “We’ll work this out, and we won’t let those Silver-Bloods get any more of this city.”

            “Thank you, Reagan,” he breathed and leaned down so their foreheads touched. “I’m… relieved you have come to trust and believe in me so.”

            She let a snort out and closed her eyes, pushing back against his head with hers some in a playful manner. “Not like I had much choice, with how charming you are and all.”

            He chuckled and then pulled back, “Come, let us help with dinner and see if Wulfjar has an idea to assist our plan.”


	14. Tala's Deathbed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The death of a squadmate is a hard one to handle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tala's Deathbed ~Moana
> 
> Super, super short chapter, but it is important.

**Danse**

            Danse sat on the steps of a forgotten stairwell away from the mess in the center of the living quarters. Something like ten vampires and their thralls had invaded Winterhold. In town five were dead, and two infected –but now cured to save them from the curse. The college had been much worse off, with twenty students, teachers, and guests killed in total. Only a few showed signs of having been bitten while the other were killed by the thralls that looked to just want to spill blood.

            He still couldn’t believe that he near slept through the whole ordeal, normally he slept so lightly. His hands rubbed over his face and he took a deep breath. It’d been a while since he lost someone under his responsibility.

            Quick feet made him look up in time for the small MacCready boy to come barreling into him. “I’m scared!” he cried and buried his face into the soft cloth of the former Paladin’s shirt.

            “Hush,” he rested his hand on the boy’s head and closed his eyes. “You’re safe now, Duncan. Where’s your daddy?”

            “He’s helping the yellow man.”

            “Good,” Danse breathed into the boy’s hair and the kid looked up at him.

            “My daddy was afraid, he was shaking, like when we were in the Inst-a-toot,” Duncan said carefully and almost matter-of-factly.

            This made the man lift his brow, “He was scared in the Institute?”

            “Yeah,” Duncan breathed with a frown. “The scary lady said she should kill daddy… said… she should kill me,” tears welled up in his eyes and he gripped Danse’s shirt with little fists. This caught his attention and he stroked the boy’s hair off his forehead.

            “Why would she say that, Duncan?”

            “Because…” he looked down at his feet. “She was sad, daddy said. She was mad and sad.”

            “Why was she mad and sad?”

            Duncan’s face twisted as he tried to think, his brows pushing together. “Daddy shot her friend.”

            Sebastian stiffened and held the boy at arms length, “Your daddy… shot one of Skaddi’s friends?”

            His lips pressed together in a tight line, but he nodded, eyes wide. “It’s a secrete, you can’t tell no body, he said it would make people mad at him.”

            Danse couldn’t feel his body, suddenly he was just numb and staring at the boy in front of him. “Which… which friend, Duncan?”

            He closed his eyes and thought, “I… don’t know, he was a boy, with… orange hair.” His sky like gaze opened and shrugged. “Daddy shot him when they were riding the ele-vator. The scary lady was really mad. But daddy helped the big man, and it made her nicer.”

            Big man? Elder Maxson? It had to be, MacCready said he’d helped, but… someone with orange hair? How many redheads did Skaddi know? “Oh no…” Danse’s creamy brown eyes closed tightly with realization and he rubbed his face. “Michael Glass….”

            “What’s wrong, Dansey?” The boy touched the Dragonborn’s head comfortingly just how the man had to him a moment ago. It was a little stiff, a movement unfamiliar to him and done in a copied way rather than genuine.

            “Nothing’s wrong, Duncan,” he lifted his head and forced a smile at the boy who grinned back.

            “Okay, can I stay with you until daddy’s done?”

            “Yes, of course, Duncan,” he let the boy settle in beside him and lean into his side. “I should be helping…”

            “The yellow man said you needed to rest!” Duncan patted Danse’s leg.

            “I know,” Sebastian sighed and rested his head on the cool wall. Their journey was going to be so much harder now. Rothruin swore he would help in whatever way he could, but there was only so much the high elf could assist with.

            “Dragonborn.” Speak of the pointy-eared devil. Danse looked up and met red rimmed, orange eyes. “They have prepared the nords for burning, would you like to say words for your friend?”

            “Yes,” he stood quickly.

            Nord funerals were done similar to those of high standing in the Brotherhood: burnt on pyres. In this landscape, with the deep snow and the harsh winds, he imagined the funerals were difficult and it meant a lot that they would prepare everything in a day. Of course, they’d had all night to pick up and move the bodies, and the morning and afternoon to fix up the pyres.

            In the Brotherhood it would have taken at least two days, and that was only after the investigation was completed. Skyrim didn’t need an investigation, and they had no need to hold onto the bodies. Those who wanted to have private funerals for their loved ones were taking care of it themselves, the rest were being burned at the same time in a large ceremony.

            Danse followed Rothruin outside, keeping Duncan close until MacCready approached and reached for his boy.

            The Dragonborn kept a hand on him a little too long, his gaze narrowed as he met the sniper’s sky like eyes. If the mercenary noticed anything odd, he didn’t show it, and simply scooped up his boy and wrapped his cloak around him without a word.

            Danse waited in the doorway, watching the high elf pause at the body of the dark elf that had welcomed them. He understood now that she’d meant a great deal to the archmage, and was more than just an apprentice or assistant. She was his fiancé, and now she was dead, her throat cut by one of the thrall.

            A sturdy hand landed on his shoulder, and Danse looked over, his lips turned down in a sad frown. Pale blue eyes surrounded by dark warpaint avoided his gaze, but showed he felt the ache of the missing nord as well.

            The Companion had nearly lost his life as well, but woke in time to struggle with his attacker. The housecarl had not been lucky. The vampire that opened him up was the one that got to Danse. He’d drained the nord to near death before moving on and left him to choke on what little blood he had remaining. It made Danse sick to think about and he turned away from Vilkas.

            “Come, brother.”

            The dark nord stepped around him and headed into the snow, following the high elf as he collected himself and made for the narrow, stone bridge to town.

 

 

            “I didn’t know Argis well, but we were friends. I would even consider him a brother after all he’s done for Reagan and myself…. I can’t speak to his feats before I met him, as those before me have, but I know that he will not be remembered for as long as his actions will be. He was not only a housecarl to Dragonborn Skaddi, but he aided me in a way I could expect no other to, in a time when I needed more help than I realized.

            “Argis the Bulwark was a housecarl, but he was a true nord, a son of Skyrim that brought honor to his name and allies through deeds he did without thought of his own well being. He put himself between those he served and cared for, and what would cause them harm. It was his duty, and his wish to put others before himself, and give his life for them.

            “This is not how he would have wanted to leave Skyrim, but this death does not dishonor him. In Sovngarde, he will sing praises, he will tell stories of all those who were great that he severed with and for, and he will train and fight along side his proud ancestors. And when he sees the familiar faces of those he knew here, he’ll want to know what happened after his passing. What will he be told?”

            Danse’s gaze flicked from Rothruin to MacCready, and then Vilkas. “We have to end this vampire threat, and find Reagan, the two most important missions we have now, and they will be at the forefront of his mind until he is told of their successes. We will not fail, we cannot. It’s not an option.

            “After the vampires there will be another threat, peace will never be truly found. Dragonborn Skaddi was brought forth to destroy Alduin the World Eater, and I, Dragonborn Sebastian, will rid Skyrim of these bloody parasites, shepherding an end to whatever scheme they plan to bring forth.” He paused to lick his lips, and lock his gaze on the trampled snow between him and his party. “This will be much more difficult without Argis, but it is not impossible. We will find a way, and we will honor his memory by going on, and never forgetting him.”

            Rothruin stepped forward then and lifted a gloved hand. Sebastian watched as a flame flickered to life between his fingers, and grew. He approached the pyres and one by one, started to light them, ending with Argis’ just as those giving speeches had.

            The Dragonborn stood back to watch the flame take over the nord. He rested with his eyes closed, his shield at his back, dressed in his full armor, and his blade in his grasp, resting at his chest pointed to his feet. There was no mistaking his sunken features for being asleep, especially with his neck ripped open. It had been closed and sewn shut, but it was not subtle enough to hide what Danse had seen before upon his discovery.

            When the tongues of the flame caught onto the fur of Argis’ armor, it spread quickly and made it impossible to see him through the glare of light any longer. Danse looked down, and then over at the boy standing in front of MacCready. Gaze as wide as a gold coin, Duncan watched the bodies burn. At first, the Dragonborn wanted him to look away, to be sheltered from this, but he stopped the protest in his throat.

            The boy understood what his father had done, that he’d _shot_ people. Death didn’t bother the boy, but it seemed he’d never seen a funeral like this, and the size of his eyes was not caused by fear.

            But curiosity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That speech was almost a Call to Arms xD
> 
> Blame AceDovah (DragonoftheMidwest) for the death. I was told my 'Plot Armor' was too noticeable, so people are going to start dying off a lot more.


	15. Eating the Peach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reagan and Thorbjorn check out the Hall of the Dead in Markarth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eating the Peach ~James and the Giant Peach

**Reagan**

Keeping close to Thor’s side, Reagan followed him to the Keep –a _massive_ building carved into the rock face and continued deep into the mountains just like the rest of the buildings in the city. Once inside, her eyes had to adjust to the severe difference in lighting. Outside it was bright enough to blind between the pale cliffs and sparkling water, but here there were only dwindling braziers scattered about, illuminated the space.

            Now that she could see, Reagan found herself frowning at the state of the foyer. The ground was broken and uneven from what looked like earthquakes, sending the artistic ground up into harsh angles and creating exposed dirt in areas. Some servants were working on them, but it was obvious this was not recent. Thorbjorn didn’t even seem to notice them and walked on ahead, over the piles of exposed earth, pausing only to make sure she was following.

            “What happened here?”

            He paused and shrugged, “Shakes in the Reach. They are common.”

            “I didn’t see anything wrong with your home, or the streets…?”

            Rex stopped and gestured for her to come close. When she was up beside him with his arm around her he spoke lowly, guiding her to the left of the entry. “My home was built with the quakes in mind, it takes a strong one to shake my foundation and cause damage, while the Keep is old and belonged to the dwemer before us. The Silver-Bloods keep the roads nice, so they can keep their image up. This quake was before we met. This looks much better than it did.”

            “Dwemer?”

            “Aye, the mer that called the underground home, they’ve long disappeared, but we see what they leave behind all over, and still fight the machines they crafted.”

            “Machines…?” her heart skipped. “You have… technology?”

            Thorbjorn paused and looked her over, “We cannot control them, and they attack on sight.”

            “Of course…”

            His silver eyes reflected some of the firelight, and she wondered if hers did the same. He continued on into the next room where a tall man with robes was standing at a table with smoking vials of many colors. Thor passed him without a second look and continued across the wide room to what looked like an entry for a separate building, cut right into the rock making up the wall of this chamber.

            A man in golden and orange robes stood beside the door and appeared anxious. When Thorbjorn and she approached, he seemed to relax some. Thorbjorn was in his old looking armor, and she’d been given some to match, leaving her back and midsection to view, as well as her thighs and knees. It was surprisingly comfortable, and Rex had promised that it would not tear when she changed, allowing her to be clothed when she shifted back from her wolf form.

            “Oh, good, I was worried you wouldn’t show,” the man stammered, coming forward so that Reagan got a strong whiff of something sickly sweet that made her mouth water. Her attention zeroed in on the man, and her jaw snapped shut to keep her from licking her lips. What was this sweetness about him?

            This wasn’t the first time she’d smelled it, but never before had she caught such a strong… _consistency_.

            Fear.

            Her heart stuttered and she locked her eyes on the man who was shaking. Thorbjorn smiled at him comfortingly, but said, “We’re right on time, Brother Verulus.”

            “I–I know… it’s just… with everything going on…” he waved to the Keep behind them and shook his head. His scent was making Reagan’s head spin. “Thongvor won’t let up. I think he might try to kill me….”

            “All is well, priest. The Silver-Blood will not harm you. Now, if you’ll allow us in, we’ll take care of whatever has been breaking into the dead.”

            Her spine shuttered as she faintly remembered Thorbjorn explaining someone was breaking the bones to get to the marrow. Anytime the priest had tried to find the creature, it appeared nothing was there, but the breaks were fresh. Thor knew he could find the cannibal –he refused to tell the priest who it was until they stopped them– and Reagan was brought along as a sort of backup.

            She also refused to be left alone in the house again. Mjolvanir was out doing who knows what at Thorbjorn’s command and Wulfjar was on duty.

            Now, though, as she watched the priest turn his back to her and unlock the door, she thought it might have been wise to put some distance between her and the man. He smelled so good; it was like she’d shoved her nose into a bowl of sugar bombs.

            “Is that a Golden-Hilt I see entering the Hall of the Dead?”

            The voice meant little to Reagan, but she could smell the instant difference in her Alpha. With a glance at him, she saw his entire body was stiffened and straight as he turned to face the owner of the call. “What is it, Thongvor?”

            Reagan spun in an aboutface, and eyed the nord coming their way dressed in what looked like heavy steel armor of _far_ finer craftsmanship than any she’d seen yet. He even had a pelt of a bear, or similar, hanging from his shoulders to accent his confident stride. The man himself was balding, but looked to only be in his forties, and had paled hair growing around his mouth, shaved clean on the corners of his jaw. His eyes were the palest, icy blue Reagan could imagine, and they sent a shudder up her spine.

            He stopped close, too close, to Thorbjorn, though he didn’t stand as tall as the younger nord, the way they looked at each other, you’d think the steel-hide was the larger man.

            “I want to know why this Priest allows the likes of you to visit your honored dead and not the family that supports his temple.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement aimed at Brother Verulus as much as Thorbjorn.

            A new wave of fear washed over Reagan, making her head feel light and her eyes to tunnel. She turned slightly to look back at the man in the orange robes. He was staring at the Silver-Blood like he possessed the ability to kill him the moment he removed his attention from Thorbjorn. Of course, that was totally possible, Reagan was still learning the mechanics of this place, and magic was obviously real here.

            “I do not enter to honor the dead. There is but a pest infestation. You and I both know what the public would think if they caught wind of Silver-Blood’s Hall of the Dead plagued with skeevers. It is best you keep your voice down and let me handle this. I should hate to see your silver hands catch grime,” Rex said, his voice low, and his silver eyes locked on the other man’s face. Thor’s features were a mask, just like Thongvor’s, but the Golden-Hilt held it while the Silver-Blood smirked at him, folding his arms across his chest.

            “Can’t even afford mercenaries to do your dirty work now, Thorbjorn? What would your father think of the way you spend his coin?”

            The shot was obviously meant only to get a reaction out of the taller man, but the blonde held his ground and didn’t even blink at the words, his lips firm in a line as he waited for the Silver-Blood to say or do something more.

            Finally Thongvor grunted and waved a hand. “Be swift then, boy, some of us have dead to honor in there.” Then he sneered at the priest with narrowed eyes that Reagan thought might be a threat, and left. The whole time, he’d never even paid her a glance.

            Once he was gone, Thorbjorn’s scent filled her nose in a rush and she realized he’d somehow kept it to himself. Her attention flashed to him, and she looked him over from blonde head to booted toe. Rage, disgust, and _pain_ were radiating off of her alpha so strongly she staggered when she reached for him.

            That woke him up and he looked at her. “I’m sorry, Spadetail, I should have kept myself more composed.”

            Her brows arched, “More composed? How did you…?”

            “Hush,” he turned to the Priest and she stiffened, and also looked at him. The man gulped and pushed the door behind him open.

            “When you’re ready… I’ll just wait here.”

            “Come,” Thorbjorn pressed his hand into the small of her back and urged her into the crypt.

            The smell wasn’t as bad as she expected for where a bunch of dead bodies were lying about. It was _nothing_ compared to the smell of a Super Mutant’s hive. That thought made her suddenly wish she had her power armor and laser rifle, but instead she had a crude looking dagger made of some greenish material with a bone handle, and armor that was from a long lost time.

            Thorbjorn was much better armed, a bow and arrows on his back with twin swords on his hips. Reagan couldn’t help but be a _little_ jealous. She _wanted_ swords, or something bigger than a combat knife, but she didn’t have the skills to wield it. And as stubborn as she was, she wasn’t stupid enough to go up against someone who’d spent their life learning how to use a sword with one of her own.

            Not that Rex would let her do it anyway. He was more like Sebastian than she cared to admit. The two of them didn’t neglect reminding her she had a second life to consider. And if she wasn’t mistaken, Thor was getting quite protective of the bun in her oven. Just this morning on their way to the keep someone had bumped her in the road and she’d stumbled, not even fallen or tripped, and she could smell the sheer anger that rolled off of the Alpha as he growled wordlessly at the pedestrian, and held her closer to him.

            At first, Reagan was getting worried he might have started to grow feelings for her, but she could never smell anything beyond what he exhibited around Wulfjar and Mjolvanir. What he was showing her was not romantic, but… possessive? As an Alpha was of his pack.

            And that made her feel warm, and calm within. Relaxed.

            It even seemed to soothe some of her wild, pregnant emotions.

            “Spadetail, here.”

            Reagan settled down on a bench at the Alpha’s gesture and waited as he ventured deeper into the crypt, returning after only a few breaths. “Anything?”

            “No. No other life is here.”

            “So we’re looking for a person. What’s a skeever? That thing you told ass-hat about?”

            “Ass… hat?” his brows drew together and then he laughed, stifling it quickly when it echoed through the halls. “Ah, Thongvor. Aye, a skeever is a pest, quite large, like a small dog, or large cat.”

            “A pest? Like a mole rat?”

            “I do not know what that is,” he said honestly and she nodded.

            “A, uh, rat then? I’ve seen a few of those, but not so big…”

            “It is a rodent, large, and feral. In groups they can easily over power and kill a man, stripping him to the bone in only a few minutes, depending on the number, and even the bones will not remain.” Thorbjorn sat down next to her and she wrinkled her nose at the thought.

            “That’s… worse than the rats I’ve seen.”

            “Aye, skeevers are… _not_ something you want to deal with if you can help it,” he circled an arm around her shoulder and pulled her against his side. “Sleep, I will wake you when there is life other than our own.”

            “I’m not tired,” she snorted and shifted some so her head could rest comfortably at an angle on his armor. If he held her like this she didn’t have to worry about falling over if she relaxed, and she knew that was his intent.

            “Try anyway.”

            “Honestly, I just have to pee, Rex.”

            A chuckle left the Alpha and she smirked, staring at the wrapped body of a long dead nord lying on a shelf in front of her.

 

 

            Reagan didn’t remember falling asleep, but she woke when Thorbjorn growled, the vibration making it right into her head, before she realized what the sound was. Her body jerked upright, and as she did so, she realized someone was speaking, their voice floating through the crypt.

            “ _…smelling of steel and blood, but not fear.”_

            Thorbjorn stood and Reagan followed, not the least bit sluggish. Her brows drew together as she listened to the voice, but she couldn’t tell where it came from.

            _“I feel the hunger inside you. Gnawing at you. You see the dead and your mouth waters…. Your stomach growls…”_

            Reagan’s heart skipped and she looked at Thorbjorn who started walking, his total attention focused on the voice.

            _“It is all right. I will not shun you for what you are.”_

            How could they know? The moment panic flashed across her mind, Thorbjorn turned to her and held her shoulders. “She knows nothing. She speaks poison to sway you to her way.”

            _“Stay. I will tell you all that you have forgotten….”_

            Reagan frowned at started up at her Alpha. He was a calming presence, but in this moment, she wished for creamy brown eyes, instead of reflective, silver ones. As great as the touches from Thorbjorn were, they weren’t what she truly wanted and needed, and those could only come from Sebastian. Her paladin had to be worried absolutely sick for her, and she kicked herself now for not sending another letter.

            Footsteps, and Reagan spun around, Thorbjorn circled an arm around her and pulled her back behind him. A woman stopped, her wild eyes flicking between them as her lips split into a sickly smile. Then she pointed to Thorbjorn.

            “It’s you… you were young when you first tasted human flesh, weren’t you? A… brother or sister had died?” she smirked and then added, “An accident, of course.”

            Reagan looked up at him and his lips curled.

            “Then the hunger set it. Curiosity,” she grinned wickedly. One of her eyes was completely white, like Argis’, and she had crimson paint around it. Or… maybe not paint. “What’s the harm in just one bite?” When she came forward, Reagan was pushed more behind Thorbjorn, but he remained still and tall, towering over the woman. She was wearing some sort of leather armor that looked scaled. “It’s okay, now. You’ve found a friend who understands you. You can let go of your guilt.”

            “Guilt?” Reagan breathed. She didn’t know much of Thorbjorn’s past, but she knew that he’d lost a lover to his beast. That, he felt guilt for.

            “A lot of our kind block out the memory of their first meal. The shame is too much. But you don’t need to hide anymore,” she reached out and laid a hand on Thorbjorn’s chest. “Namira, the lady of Decay, accepts you for what you are. She has a place for us, where we can sate our appetites without judgment.”

            If Reagan hadn’t been told before that this woman was a cannibal, and that she was human, the Knight would almost think she shared the beast blood and was referring to that. The fact that she wasn’t made Reagan’s stomach churn. This woman was breaking into a crypt and eating _long dead_ bodies.

            Somehow that made the cannibalism _worse_.

            “Where is this place?” Thor said, his voice unnaturally low.

            “It’s inside Reachcliff Cave. But the dead have stirred from their slumber recently, and I was forced here,” she sighed and looked around. “Meet me there,” she said suddenly, looking them over. “We will fight our way to Namira’s embrace together,” she grinned and showed teeth that made Reagan gag and turn away.

            Why was she so squeamish suddenly? For Christ’s sake, the woman had watched ferals tear open a soldier and turn him inside out.

            Oop, that was a bad thought to have.

            Reagan placed her hand on the wall and emptied her stomach. Thorbjorn turned to her and held her hair out of the way. The woman knelt down beside her and grinned, her good eye rolling over Reagan’s face.

            “You have tasted the flesh more recently… it’s still fresh in your eyes, child,” she touched Reagan’s cheek and the faint scent of stagnant dead could be smelled on her fingertips. That made Reagan heave again. “You’ll come to terms with it. Come with your man, and see what Namira has to offer you. This guilt, shame, and disgust will be taken away from you. Until then,” she stood and looked at Thorbjorn, “tell the people of Markarth that their dead won’t be disturbed, anymore. We have bigger plans ahead.”

            And then she was gone, her body vanishing in a shimmer of light. But Reagan could faintly hear her footsteps as she skipped away like a gleeful child.

 

 

            “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

            “No, lass, he’s serious.”

            Reagan’s hand covered her mouth and she tried to come up with a reaction. With the kind of day she was having, the last thing she expected was a gift. When was the last time someone –other than her best friend Merr– given her something anyway? Probably… Michael Glass, for her birthday almost a year ago when she turned twenty-one. Her parents had given her a present early because they were both too busy to spend time with her on the day, but that was normal and didn’t bother her at all. Merr had given her –or at least turned a blind eye when Reagan _took_ – shampoo and body wash from her private reserves. Michael had given her the stock to her laser rifle. It was just the model she’d wanted, and had been so happy when she opened it up she’d hugged the lancer and planted a kiss on his heavily freckled cheek. This was different.

            This was a horse – _she_ was a horse, standing between the two larger stallions that belonged to Rex and Bud. She was white with painted black splotches and a mane and tail in matching bisque. Her face was… beautiful, white in nearly its entirety, but had black around her eyes to her temples and along her jaw to the corners of her mouth. Sort of like a skull.

            “She’s yours, Spadetail,” Thorbjorn pulled her reins, prompting her forward to hand them to Reagan and she bit her lip, taking them. Her eyes were slate grey, like gunmetal, and had thick black lashes that blended in with her socket paint. “Still a filly, but freshly broken and trained,” he smiled, and brushed her hair off her forehead. “Her name is Hillavi.”

            “Hillavi… that’s pretty,” Reagan whispered stroked the horse’s nose. It had a couple of black strips along it to match the skull pattern. “She’s really mine?”

            “All yours, Wulfjar aided in her price. She is from a fine bloodline,” he brushed her hair from her face. “And she’ll make a good breeder should you wish it.”

            Reagan smirked and looked over at the two patient stallions tied up at the stable. Ysmastaag and Clevenger, the latter belonged to Wulfjar. Clevenger wasn’t as… kind as Thorbjorn’s male, which was explained to her by Bud as being rooted in his knowledge that he was the best looking horse in Skyrim. And Reagan couldn’t really disagree. Clevenger was a little thicker than Ysmastaag and had a pure white coat with pitch eyes. He had a bit of a beard along the underside of his jaw, and his mane was so thick the guard had cut it and then tied it in an intricate design from his forehead down to his shoulders. His tail was done to match; looking far more professional than Ysmastaag whose hair was worn loose. “Which would be the daddy?”

            Wulfjar pulled Clevenger’s head to him and chuckled, “That’d be up to you, Jarrin, but either would make a fine sire.”

            “One pregnant lass is all we need in our group though,” Thorbjorn smiled and rested his hand on Reagan’s shoulder. “Husbandry can come later.”

            The knight nodded and rested her hand on her stomach, her mind flitting to Sebastian. Her dreams had been plagued by her worry, while she filled her days with distractions. Had her letter gotten to him? How long would it take? Was he even still alive? The vampires that wanted to get her could have gotten to him.

            That thought made her queasy.

            Hellavi turned her head and pushed Reagan, drawing her attention to the filly. She smiled at the horse, and then to Thorbjorn. “Thanks, Rex, Bud,” she nodded to the guard as tears pricked at her eyes. “Ah, shit, here come the waterworks.”

            The bearded nord threw his arm around her and pulled her into his side. He wasn’t wearing his armor, none of them were, so it was comfortable. He was warm and his scent calmed her, but didn’t stop the tears as they trickled down her cheeks and wet his shirt. “Never could stand to see a lady cry.”

            “That’d be why he always leaves them in the night,” Wulfjar chuckled and slapped the Alpha on the back.

            “Don’t say such things, she’ll believe you’re lying ass,” he growled with a playful smile tipping his lips.

            Reagan huffed and pulled out of his arm. “What’s the plan, Rex?”

            Thorbjorn sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “We have to go meet that woman at Reachcliff cave. I think it best if you stay back, out of sight, Wulfjar,” the Alpha nodded to the other man. The guard nodded and turned to Clevenger to get him loaded. Hillavi was already ready, so Reagan climbed onto her and settled in the leather and fur.

            This saddle was far more comfortable than the one that Thor used. She knew it had to be because he knew she wouldn’t ‘ride correctly’ and would sit ‘heavy’. It wasn’t that she _couldn’t_ ride the right way, she just got tired from her inexperience. Ysmastaag came up beside her and Reagan grinned over at the nord riding him.

            “We’ll armor up when we get there, and Wulfjar will keep back. If we need him, we’ll signal, and he’ll come in. I doubt we’ll encounter anything we can’t handle on our own.”

            “All right,” she smiled and turned in her saddle to look over at Wulfjar as he came up next to her. He smirked and leaned over, rustling her hair.

            “Come on, Jarrin, let’s test your filly’s legs, aye?” he turned Clevenger and gave the stallion a kick so that he leapt into a gallop down the cobblestone road. Reagan glanced over at Thorbjorn briefly, and he nodded once.

            Then she nudged Hillavi’s sides with her heels and the filly shifted her weight and started after the larger, white horse.


	16. Friend like Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Maxson had been his best friend, and had been so quick to leave him, but here Vilkas didn’t care what Danse was, nothing but the soldier he was proving himself to me. Reagan loved him even though he was a synth, and he wished he could say that Arthur’s feels didn’t change, but they did. He couldn’t blame him, but the abandonment he felt, knowing that if it weren’t for Skaddi he’d be dead…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friend Like Me~Aladdin

**Danse**

            _Sei, I have to write this quickly. I’m with some asshole nord. He’s keeping me safe, and he’s being nice enough, hasn’t hurt me or anything. He won’t let me come find you because he thinks I’ll hurt you. I wouldn’t, I’ll never hurt you, Sebastian. He said we’re going to a city called Markarth I think? Something like that. He can’t read this, I guess our necklaces don’t translate writing to over-the-shoulder readers. But yeah, I’m alive, Sei, I’m not sure how long it’ll take you to get this but we’re currently in Solitude, the capital with the wolf on the flags. I wish I was with you. I was stupid to leave with that kid. I’m sorry, I have to get going. I love you, Sebastian Danse. Meet me in Markarth._

            The courier walking alongside their cart, seeming to be waiting for something. Vilkas turned to him with narrowed brows and a curled lip. “Get on then,” he barked and tossed a coin at him. The young man grabbed the gold and then picked up, running down the road. “What does it say, brother?”

            Danse glanced up, finally tearing his gaze from the parchment in his hands. “Where’s Markarth again?”

            “Other side of Skyrim. Markarth is to the west what Windhelm is to the east,” Rothruin leaned forward so that his elbows rested on his knees, his maroon brows drawing together to wrinkle the golden space between them. “Is that where your woman is?”

            “If she’s still there,” Danse frowned and bent to grab the map out of his satchel. The cart rocked as it came over a rough patch of stones in the road, and the Dragonborn shifted to better allow Duncan’s head at his side to rest without leaving a kink. MacCready was walking beside the cart with his sniper rifle drawn, tired of sitting, he’d wanted to take advantage of the grassy road and lack of snow to stretch his legs. “She wrote this while she was in Solitude, and she said they were headed for Markarth.” He looked at the city with the ram’s horns and nodded. “She’s still there.”

            “Quite the map you have there,” Rothruin breathed, looking at it while it was turned upside down.

            “Yeah, it has all of Skaddi’s allies on it,” he said and turned it around so the mage could look it over. His orange eyes melted as he took in the information.

            “Incredible, here I am,” he chuckled and pointed, “And Vilkas….” His finger flicked up to the college where Argis was still marked and he cleared his throat. “That’s… a shame.”

            Danse frowned and nodded, “Do you know anyone else?”

            “Hmm, let’s see.” The high elf rolled his finger over the map, following roads to the letters. “A legend would be fantastic…. Ah, yes, housecarl Gregor of Heljarchen House in the Pale. This cart will go right by it, we could stop, stock up, and check in with housecarl. It may do well to ease his mind.”

            Vilkas shifted, “All that was Skaddi’s now belongs to Sebastian.”

            “Is it in writing? I don’t believe I have met a housecarl who would believe such a thing, even coming from you, Companion,” Rothruin frowned and Danse winced.

            “No, only Argis’ word.”

            Rothruin rubbed his mouth in thought and looked over to Vilkas. “We can see what the housecarl thinks, but I would not allow yourself to hope for more than a single meal and a place to sit.”

            “Have you met him, Vilkas?”

            “No, brother,” the Companion shook his head and sighed. “I was not with Skaddi when she went north. I know Jordis,” he smiled then, tilting his head over to Sebastian. “She is the housecarl Skaddi keeps in Solitude.”

            “Skaddi was telling me about Skyrim before Reagan and I came here with Argis,” the Dragonborn started, looking at the map Rothruin handed back before folding it up and putting it back in his pack. “She mentioned having a home in every city, housecarls to guard them… but one was broken into, her things stolen?”

            Vilkas frowned, “Not Breezehome in Whiterun.”

            “The former Dragonborn did not own an actual home in Winterhold, she simply had a room at the college, but no things have been removed from her room, she kept little there.”

            “What home did she favor? She had to keep most of her things at one.”

            Vilkas stiffened and gestured to the satchel between Danse’s feet. “Argis is still on the map, aye? Does his sign appear the same?”

            Sebastian reopened the map and looked at the A in Winterhold, it was still while the others shifted around, and it looked faded as if it were written in gray instead of black, but he wouldn’t have noticed if Vilkas hadn’t asked. Then the Companion sighed, in either defeat or disgust, and pointed to Solitude. The J there matched Argis’ letter in color, and also hadn’t moved from its place.

            “Ach, I _knew_ Jordis.”

            “Reagan was just there…” Sebastian frowned. The threat was long passed, and she probably didn’t remember what Skaddi had said about her houses in the cities, besides, she had that nord with her, the one that probably gave her the beast blood. That made his back stiffen. The Companion had told him how the pack dynamic worked, they were close, and you could even smell each other’s feelings, making lying incredibly difficult if not impossible, especially to the Alpha.

            Sebastian wasn’t naive, he knew Reagan had a high sex drive, and she was a notorious flirt. He didn’t mind the latter as long as it was playful and with no action taken, but he didn’t know this man she was with, and it made his chest burn. Something inside of him shifted and the sigh that slipped out of him echoed through the air, shaking the cart, and causing the horse pulling it to start. The carriage driver stopped them and looked back, startled, but was met with similar looks as the high elf, nord, and small child all now shifted away from Danse. He folded the map up and shoved it back into his bag, frowning deeply.

            “I’m sorry,” he muttered lowly, and looked up at the carriage driver. The man turned back and started the horse back up as MacCready leaped into the cart and took a seat beside Rothruin.

            “What was that?”

            “The Voice… you’ll need to speak with the Grey Beards, they’ll help you control it.”

            “I don’t think I really have time,” Sebastian said with a sigh and rubbed his face. Why was everything constantly going wrong? Why did he have so many responsibilities? In the Commonwealth he lost his life, and now he had this one throw right at him along with the troubles of the land, the responsibilities of being the next Dragonborn, and his woman not only being MIA but cursed with lycanthropy.

            “Take a breath, Dragonborn,” Rothruin leaned forward to rest a hand on his shoulder, but Danse brushed it off and glared at him.

            “Take a breath? _I_ have to find Reagan, _I_ have to stop the vampires, _I_ have to learn how to handle a _part_ of myself now… and this cart moves _so. Damn. Slow!_ ” the last three words were spoken clearly, separately, and loudly, backed by the crack of thunder in the clouds that startled Duncan into crossing the cart to his father.

            Suddenly, Danse blinked and looked at the faces of those with him, but could ignore the fact the cart had stopped again. The driver turned back to him and shook his head. “You ain’t gonna be able ta pay me enough ta deal with this, I’m serry, but if yer gonna to keep doin’ that, yer gettin’ off me cart.”

            “That’s fine, I’m sure I can walk faster,” Danse grabbed his satchel and dropped off the back of the cart, throwing the bag over his shoulder and started walking. “I’ll meet the rest of you at Skaddi’s home in the Pale.”

            “Oh, no you don’t, brother,” Vilkas jumped off the cart and came to his side. “If you’re walking, so am I.”

            “Duncan can’t walk that whole way,” MacCready’s voice made Danse pause and he looked back at the sniper.

            “Then take the cart, Rothruin, stay with him, make sure they get to Skaddi’s home.”

            “Aye,” the high elf frowned, looking at the boy and his father as if he wished he could go with Danse instead.

            Then the cart driver grumbled and swatted his horse. The old thing threw its head and trotted off, passed Vilkas and Sebastian. When they were out of earshot, the Dragonborn turned to the Companion. “Hope you don’t regret this.”

            “Never,” Vilkas smirked and slapped his gloved hand against the steel protecting the other man’s shoulder. “Come on, they’ll surely beat us if we keep standing here.”

 

 

            Vilkas knew Skyrim like the back of his hand, and found the house through the woods and hillsides, not needing the roads like the cart did, but with that, meant they did not have Rothruin who actually knew Gregor.

            The trek was quiet between them, for the most part. Danse simply asked a few questions, mostly regarding the armor that Rothruin wore. Using the Companion’s words, it was obvious that Danse ‘fancied’ the ebony protecting the high elf. Even his battleaxe interested the former soldier to the point he wanted to learn to use it. Shields were fine, but Danse was more of the offensive type of fighter. If he had good armor, then both hands were for his weapon, just like with his laser rifle.

            Vilkas, of course, approved, and promised to aid him in learning the skill, as well as helping him get his hands on a fine set of ebony armor. He made the passing comment that he thought Sebastian would prefer the heft of a hammer over that of an axe or sword. Without knowledge on the subject, he couldn’t really say, so Danse simply nodded, and they fell back into the comfortable silence.

            That was until Danse recalled what had happened in the college, what now only he and Vilkas knew about. From what he could tell, the Companion wasn’t seeking anything with him, but he hadn’t expected the contact in the first place, and it confused him even more as he tried to figure out the man beside him.

            Ever confident, Vilkas went right up to the door and knocked, stepping back to eye the place. “Tis a fine home, I believe the Dragonborn made the design herself…”

            The door opened and a man stepped into the threshold. He had a bald head –from shaving or loss, Danse couldn’t tell– and facial hair arching his mouth, seeming to have forgotten his chin as it went from ear to ear otherwise. He wore clothing as if he wasn’t expecting a visit –seeing as most of those who Danse met seemed to be wearing armor at all times– and looked between Vilkas and Sebastian with uneven brows and narrowed eyes. “What is it that you need?”

            “We’re friends of Dragonborn Skaddi, your Thane,” the dark nord said and gestured to himself. “I am Vilkas of the Companions, and this is Dragonborn Sebastian.”

            Gregor’s brows betrayed him, and shot up before settling back down over his narrow, sunken eyes. His lips turned down. “What proof have you?”

            Vilkas wrinkled his nose, showing his teeth, “That I am as I say I am?”

            The housecarl straightened and grabbed a sword from beside the door. “Aye. I deal with enough fools seeking a rise. I shall not welcome another unquestioned.”

            Vilkas lifted a hand and grabbed the handle of his sword. Danse stepped between them. “Do you wish me to use the Voice? Would that prove who we are?”

            Gregor frowned and waved his hand in front of him. “My mother can shout if she puts her mind to it. You think it tells me you are Dragonborn? That you know my Thane?”

            Sebastian frowned and looked over at the Companion who shrugged, “Aye, it is the stealing of souls that makes you Dragonborn, brother.”

            Danse frowned and rubbed at his forehead. “All right, where’s a dragon?”

            Gregor huffed and shook his head. “Go, now, before I make you.”

            “You’d make us? What hospitality is this, housecarl?” Vilkas growled.

            “A tired one. I do not know you,” he looked between them meaningfully. “If you are who you say you are, then you would have no trouble to show me proof. And even if you could not, should you not respect my duty to my Thane?”

            “Your Thane isn’t coming home,” Danse started, sounding annoyed as his patience was worn down by his day and the cold biting at his joints. He realized too late it sounded like a threat, though, and before he could continue, the housecarl had thrown the scabbard off his sword and was rushing forward.

            Before Sebastian could move, Vilkas had his sword up and blocked the oncoming blade. This turned Gregor’s eyes to the Companion, and he pulled his weapon back, growling, “Get off my Thane’s land!”

            “Your Thane left the land to Dragonborn Sebastian, you old fool,” Vilkas bared his teeth, holding his sword defensively.

            “You lot are nothing but thieves!”

            That struck a cord, and Danse grabbed his laser rifle off his shoulder and pointed it at the man. “Put the sword down.”

            Gregor barked a laugh, “What is that?” While he looked at Danse, Vilkas stepped forward and used his two-handed sword to smack away the smaller one. Gregor’s grip tightened, though, and he turned back to the Companion. Vilkas growled lowly, and Danse could faintly imagine the man as a wolf, before he spun the housecarl’s sword in his grasp, loosening his hold until it ripped out of his grip.

            When he went to grab it from the ground, Danse fired, purposefully missing, aiming for the hilt of the sword. When the red beam flashed and hit the leather bound handle, the housecarl jerked his head up and stared at Danse.

            “What magic is this?”

            “Not magic,” Vilkas grabbed the other nord by the collar of his shirt and pulled him up to his feet. “This would have been so much easier if Argis was with us, aye?”

            “You know Argis?” Gregor looked over his shoulder at the dark nord.

            “Aye, we told you, we know your Thane.”

            “Did you kill him, too?”

            Danse winced, “We didn’t kill him, he was attacked by vampires.”

            “How convenient,” the housecarl snapped and threw his fist back into Vilkas’ face. Then he dove for the sword again and as Danse fired, another gunshot rang through the air and the housecarl’s head snapped sideways and spattered.

            Danse jumped back and lifted his laser rifle instinctively to the direction the other bullet came and realized that only one person in this land would have a ballistic gun.

            MacCready.

            The cart was too far for Danse to have noticed it before, but now he could see it and knew the sniper was there, and probably misjudged the situation. Looking back down, Sebastian frowned at the body. His shot was in the man’s arm, to keep him from causing more harm. Not that it did any good now.

            With a sigh, Sebastian returned Righteous Authority to his back and knelt beside the nord. Vilkas grimaced and put his sword away. “A damn shame…”

            “Now the house won’t be protected when we leave,” Danse frowned and rubbed his face. “Damn it!” Thunder shook the ground when he hollered, the muscles of his arms tensing right up to his spine with his sudden rage.

            Vilkas grabbed his shoulder and turned him to look him in the eye. “Calm…”

            “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, brother,” he breathed lowly, looking into those pale blue eyes, remembering Arthur in a flash.

            The Maxson had been his best friend, and had been so quick to leave him, but here Vilkas didn’t care what Danse was, nothing but the soldier he was proving himself to me. Reagan loved him even though he was a synth, and he wished he could say that Arthur’s feels didn’t change, but they did. He couldn’t blame him, but the abandonment he felt, knowing that if it weren’t for Skaddi he’d be dead…

            Sebastian rested his forehead against the other man’s shoulder, “I just want Reagan here, safe. I don’t want to be Dragonborn. We came here to start a new life, and I feel like I’ve taken on someone else’s.”

            Vilkas shifted and turned his head to look at the other man, frowning. “It is because you walk in Skaddi’s footsteps. Without Argis, we cannot expect her tracks to lead us to aid any longer. Now we must forge our own way. Your own way, Dragonborn Sebastian, brother.”

            The Companion ran his fingers through Danse’s hair and used the grip to make their eyes meet. The former soldier nodded once and straightened up. “Where do we begin?”

            “Skaddi left you this home and its supplies. Nothing lies between us and what lies inside. We can rest, decide on our next moves, and plan from here. Start anew.” The Companion stepped back and gestured widely with his hands. “You tell us where we go. We find Reagan, then we stop these damned vampires, aye?”

            “Aye,” Sebastian breathed and took a deep breath, looking down at Gregor again. “Damn I wish this wouldn’t have happened…”

            “Let’s just hope there are no others in the home,” the Companion stepped up to the door and opened it with a glance over his shoulder toward the cart as it pulled up. Danse waited for Rothruin, MacCready, and Duncan to come his way. The cart driver took one look at Gregor’s body and shook his head.

            “Ain’t worth it,” he growled and pulled the horse away. No one said anything, and the Dragonborn turned back to the Companion who pushed the front door open, allowing them entrance into the house.


	17. Savages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m your friend.”  
> “You’re my… friend.” ...Reagan’s spine relaxed, and she noticed Thorbjorn’s do the same at her side.  
> “Yes. I’m your friend, and I’ve invited you to dinner.”  
> Reagan’s stomach turned, growling and she grabbed it, the haze coming back over her eyes. It felt like she’d just woken up and was trying to blink away the sleep. She knew it wasn’t true, she knew she wasn’t tired, but… she couldn’t get rid of the feeling.  
> “I’ve been invited to dinner…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Savages~Pocahontas
> 
>  
> 
> I'm sorry for the delay, guys, but hopefully, you like this chapter.

**Reagan**

            “Just keep back, Spadetail.”

            “Damn it, Rex, I’m not helpless,” Reagan huffed and dropped off the horse, looking over the dark cave entrance. The woman from the crypt was there, arms folded as she leaned against an old stone pillar.

            Thorbjorn paused and stepped up to her, standing close, his silver eyes flicked down to her stomach and then back to her. “Not helpless, but you do not know how to use a weapon that I’ve seen, and that leaves you with the beast,” he looked over at the cannibal chick and tilted his head meaningfully at Reagan. “And I don’t want you taking her out before we’re ready.”

            His voice was low enough the woman couldn’t hear, barely audible for even her sensitive ears. “Fine,” Reagan breathed and folded her arms. “Be quick then.”

            “Always.”

            As soon as he was gone with the woman into the cave, the sound of Clevenger’s hooves beating against the grassy earth reached her ears. Reagan turned to look up at the nord when he came near. He wore different armor now that he wasn’t on duty, this was gold and sea green, light, and sharp looking. “What’cha doin’, Bud?”

            “I heard him leave you,” he nodded toward the cave. “They’ll be gone for several hours I suspect and it’s getting dark.”

            “Scared?”

            The nord huffed and dismounted, grabbing Clevenger’s reins and then Hillavi’s. He tied them up and then pointed to where someone had made a camp once, probably the woman with Thorbjorn. “I’ll make a fire and we’ll eat. If they come back while I’m still here, I’m just a traveler that saw your campfire.”

            “All righty,” Reagan sighed and started helping him set up the camp with the supplies they had in their saddlebags. Silence settled on them too quiet and awkwardly for her taste, though, and the knight quickly found herself nibbling on her lip and flexing her fingers. “So, tell me about yourself, Bud. How’d you meet Thorbjorn?”

            The nord paused his progress on starting a fire to look up at her and lift a brow before nodding and going back to what he was doing. “I was traveling with my childhood friend, a high elf by the name of Rothruin. He and I shared a birth year, only a month apart, and we grew up quite close together in the swamps outside of Morthal before my parents took us to the Reach. He came to visit me when his… group died,” the guard spoke carefully suddenly and Reagan noticed how he stared intently at the fire he was attempting to make. “He was planning to try for the Companions, but I told him they would not take him –he uses far too much magic for their liking.” Wulfjar shifted as the flame took and flickered to life. “He and I drank and had a merry time in the Silver-Blood Inn before we took to the hills. We were separated and I wondered into a foresworn camp.”

            “Forsworn?”

            “Wild men that call the Reach home. They wear the skins of animals and use crude weapons made of wood and teeth,” the nord bared his teeth and she faintly heard a growl bubbling up in his chest. “They fell upon me and I nearly died until a white wolf came and tore into them. I was given the blood to save my life, just as you were. I’ve been with Thorbjorn since.”

            “Rex really likes to save people doesn’t he…?”

            Wulfjar thought about that and shifted, “Has he told you of his Neriasa?”

            Reagan settled down on the dirt beside him and shook her head, “Not really. He killed her with his beast blood?”

            “Aye. Thorbjorn was the third son of the Golden-Hilts of Markarth. He wasn’t going to take over much as his eldest brother had the best claim on the inheritance and the second brother was well liked by their parents. Our Alpha always took to the hills outside of the city to hunt and camp. He did not like being controlled.” Wulfjar rubbed at his jaw in thought. “Thorbjorn was turned by a wolf seeking only to create a feared pack. When he fully understood what he was he thought he could control it, but his Alpha was wicked. Later his Alpha learned of Thorbjorn’s betrothal to Neriasa and thought he would lose him to them.” When the nord paused this time he looked pained. “Neriasa was the daughter of a dark elf and imperial. A lovely girl I’d had the pleasure of seeing once but I did not know her. She was beautiful and kind and only wanted to do right by her family. Our Alpha has told me about the night he met her. He could smell her pure joy, how much she truly wanted to marry him, and to be his. Thorbjorn didn’t know what he’d done to please the gods so, but he was happy to be rewarded for it.” The man’s silver eyes locked on the fire and he frowned deeply. “Thorbjorn spent more time with his betrothed and less with his pack. So the next time he returned to them, his Alpha took them for a hunt… right through Neriasa’s family estate.” Reagan felt her heart ache and she too looked at the fire. After a moment, Wulfjar continued, “She happened upon him just after he killed her parents. He had no idea what he was doing. He was still new to the blood and could not fully control his beast. Neriasa tried to run from him but he…”

            When Wulfjar stopped talking, Reagan nodded, closing her eyes.

            “Finish the story, Wulfjar.”

            They both looked up at their Alpha and stiffened. His silver eyes were wet but his face was unreadable even with their night eyes.

            “Tell her how I chased her through the halls like a cat does a mouse. How I caught her with my claws to make her bleed but did not try my hardest to stop her. _Tell her_ how I smelled my love’s fear and it was the _sweetest scent I’ve smelled to date_.”

            “It was not you, Thorbjorn, but your beast…”

            Their Alpha turned away from them, his hands balled into fists and she thought she faintly heard a sniff from him. “I have yet to taste a heart as sweet as hers.”

            “You don’t believe that.”

            Reagan stood up as he turned back to them, baring his teeth. She growled lowly at him, “Am I to give up then? Never to see Sebastian again because I wish not to be like you?”

            He glared at her and she saw in his face the conflict. He truly wanted her to be able to control her beast and return to her life, but he had doubts. Those were about himself, though, not her. He doubted he could help her and keep her from making his mistake. “Do you love him?”

            “Yes.”

            “That will make it harder.” Reagan’s breath left her and she nodded once, unsure of what to do other than that. “Come, we must get Brother Verulus and bring him back while she gathers her flock.”

            “We’re going to kill them?” Reagan confirmed and Wulfjar stood, frowning.

            “Who will take their places?”

            “I need you to return to the city. Mjolvanir should have collected two men to replace the butcher and trader. The dog breeder we will deal with another way.” Thor looked at Reagan. “You come with me to collect the priest and we’ll come back here. She thinks you to be one of us, I told her you have never learned the way of the sword but wish to dine with Namira.”

            “Outstanding,” she breathed and he rested a hand on her shoulder.

            “Once everything’s in place, we’ll release our beasts. The only ones walking out of the feast will be you, me, and Brother Verulus.”

            Wulfjar untied Clevenger and mounted, looking back at them. “I’ll be at the estate, brother.”

            “Aye.” They watched the guard ride off into the darkness and then Thorbjorn turned to her “Come, let us get back to the city.”

 

 

            The sun was on its way up, Reagan could see it in the distance as the sky started to change colors. Hillavi shifted her weight and the Knight did her best to keep straight in the saddle. She still wasn’t really used to it, but she was doing her best to learn quickly.

            “Is this our destination?” the priest asked, looking around once he dismounted.

            “Aye, this cave here is infested with flesh eaters,” Thorbjorn growled, his brows coming down heavily over his eyes. Verulus frowned and looked at Reagan who cautiously dismounted to follow her Alpha.

            “I see….”

            Once the horses were secured, they headed on into the cave. It was a dark place, with very, very low lighting as the sun wasn’t high enough yet to reflect off the walls. Her beast’s eyes allowed her to keep her feet steady while the priest behind her stumbled a couple times. Neither she nor Thor paid him mind. He was here simply as bait.

            Thorbjorn had no intention of allowing the cannibals to eat him, but he needed them to let their guard down if he was going to get them all. She was to make sure no one harmed the priest –including him on the off chance his beast lost control. She had been given a simple knife, one he said was a ‘nordic’ dagger. She liked how it looked, with a leather bound grip and a fur tuft on the end by the pommel. It had a simple, but excellent carving in the sides of the blade, straight beyond what she would have thought possible with their tools. The craftsmanship was amazing, and she knew it had to be a pretty damn impressive weapon despite its size.

            The bodies that had lined the halls were gone, but Reagan could still smell the stench of old death and decay. It was a very similar smell to when feral ghouls got too close, but this seemed more… stagnant. This was a tomb, but it was more than that now. It was home to sickly beings, worse than what she was.

            They stepped into an open hall with fires burning and the sting of blood reached her nose. The people came next, ranging from damp dog to gold, but they all were met with the same expression from her. Distaste.

            Brother Verulus came forward and looked at the people, then at Thorbjorn. “What’s going on?” he looked over at the woman as she came forward. “Who… who are you?”

            She smiled and opened her arms to him, “Priest of Arkay. I’m your friend.”

            Reagan felt something overcome her. She blinked back the haze over her eyes and swallowed hard.

            “You’re my… friend,” the priest said slowly, his words seeming to become more comfortable. Reagan’s spine relaxed, and she noticed Thorbjorn’s do the same at her side.

            “Yes. I’m your friend, and I’ve invited you to dinner.”

            Reagan’s stomach turned, growling and she grabbed it, the haze coming back over her eyes. It felt like she’d just woken up and was trying to blink away the sleep. She knew it wasn’t true, she knew she wasn’t tired, but… she couldn’t get rid of the feeling.

            “I’ve been invited to dinner…” the priest breathed and then touched his stomach. “I’m so hungry…”

            Blinking rapidly, Reagan looked between the priest and the woman, and then at everyone sitting at the tables. She didn’t know them. They meant nothing to her, but now they looked at her and at the priest as if she were a pig for slaughter. Not yet a meal, but about to be.

            Her fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of her dagger and she felt her spine crawl. Her beast warmed her chest and she felt the haze begin to leave. A growl sounded in her chest, something she couldn’t quite control, but it sounded too similar to her stomach’s previous call for an untrained ear to notice.

            Thorbjorn knew though, and he stepped closer to her, pulling her into his side with a strong arm. He smelled of the forest, moss and some sort of sweeter scent she couldn’t name yet. It covered the smell of the blood, and it calmed her beast enough to stop the growling.

            “Why don’t you lay down and rest, while we get the meal ready?” the woman touched the priest’s face and he nodded, eyes drooping.

            “I need to lay down. I’ll just be a minute….”

            “Come with me. Our feast is about to begin.” The woman kept her touch on him and led him across the room to some sort of altar like none that Reagan had seen before. All eyes were away from her now, and this left her and Thorbjorn between the cannibals and the only exit. A wicked smile splayed across her lips and she looked up at him.

            “Now?”

            “Wait for him to lie down,” he said so softly that she barely heard him.

            Reagan’s silver gaze flicked across the room to the priest as he lied down on the altar, readying himself for a death he couldn’t see coming. He rested on his back, looking up at a strange hanging object that looked as if it could drop at any moment and pierce his chest.

            “Come, new guests. The meal is on Namira’s table. Come and carve…” she held up a knife, but Reagan only smiled a little wider.

            “I’ll do it,” she said and came forward, counting the people at the table. There were seven, none wore armor like she and Thorbjorn did, and they only had simple, small blades at their sides or resting beside them on the table. They would be easy.

            The woman tilted her head slightly as the Knight approached. Then she grinned, seeing the glee in her guest’s eye.

            “What is the best way?” Reagan asked, standing beside the cannibal. She looked at the Knight with a smile and then lifted her knife to rest it on the priest’s chest.

            “Above the heart.”

            Reagan nodded and looked the woman in the eye. That haze was starting to come over her eyes again, making her vision blur, but the beast within burned her chest. “Of course.” And then Reagan’s Nordic blade was plunged into the cannibal’s chest, right above the metal plate on her hide armor, into her heart. The blur dissipated. “Like this?” Reagan tilted her head and the woman gasped, turning her knife on her attacker.

            It was grabbed though and guided up to her neck, sinking the blade into the soft skin there under her jaw.

            “This works, too, doesn’t it?” Reagan lifted a brow

            “What’re you doing?!”

            “Kill them!”

            “Traitors!”

            Reagan scoffed and kicked the woman over so that she tumbled down the steps and hit the wall in an awkward, bloody heap. When she turned around she had two knives, one in each hand. A man came rushing at her and she moved to the side as he swung his fist and lifted a blade. He looked to be the butcher, but butchers didn’t know how to cut a fighting target.

            Reagan’s blades opened his belly, slicing right through his shirt to the organs within. He yelped and swung again, but she sidestepped and circled him, using one blade on the artery in the side of his neck. Once that was opened, she turned her back to him and descended the steps toward the others, listening to him fall to the ground with a wet thud.

            A woman in a hat, wearing too much make-up came at her brandishing a steak knife, the Knight laughed and used her forearm to redirect the attack, turning it away from her, and then used her dagger to sink deep into the woman’s side. Then she spun her around and kicked her in the back, forcing her forward too fast for her to stop her fall. She impacted with her chin against a stone seat. A crack sent her body limply to the ground after.

            Crunching bones wrapped in muscle and flesh hit a wall and Reagan looked up to see Thorbjorn swinging his warhammer in broad strokes, shattering the skulls and spines and ribcages of the final cannibals in the room. All… but the one using magic.

            An icy spike flew directly for Reagan’s head and she barely turned to miss it. The frost behind it brushed her cheek and she bared her teeth at the caster, growling lowly. Her beast didn’t like the spell, but before she could say anything, Thorbjorn was on him, the warhammer thrown long ways into him so the handle smacked into his face.

            Then her Alpha threw the handle over the mage’s hood, grabbing him by the neck, and pulled him close. “Shouldn’t have done that spell caster,” he growled and bared his teeth. Then he threw his head into the mage’s over and over until the robes went limp and slumped to the floor. Thorbjorn straightened up and placed his warhammer on his back. He looked at Reagan and then passed her to go to Brother Verulus. “Priest, are you well?”

            “What… what happened?”

            “You were this close to being food,” Thorbjorn grunted and lifted his thumb and forefinger a small distance apart. Reagan smirked and wiped off the blood on her blades, using the clothing of the dead.

            The man’s eyes widened and he gazed around, looking at all the bodies. “Sweet Breath of Arkay, were these the cannibals that were plaguing the Hall of the Dead?” Thorbjorn nodded and the priest rubbed his face. “I need to get back to Markarth. If there’s anything I can do for you in return for saving my life…” he waved around and the Alpha nodded.

            “Of course, I know where to find you.”

            Verulus rubbed his forehead and cleared his throat. “I, uh… thank you.” Then he stepped around the bodies carefully on his way out. “I’ll have them… tended to.”

            When he was gone, Reagan felt her beast warm again. The smell of fresh blood was great, and it made her head light. “I need to get out of here,” she breathed and all but ran for the way out. She took a different path than then priest, coming out the back entrance of the crypt instead. The waterfall was a welcomed sight, and sent moist, clean air into her face, washing away the scent of death.

            _“You have done well, young wolf.”_

            Spinning quickly, Reagan lifted the knives she’d been gripping tightly enough to white her knuckles. A large, white stag stood in front of her, lifting his head high as he looked at her with glowing eyes. He was beautiful, perfect from what her untrained eyes could see. So different from the radstags back in the Commonwealth. “You,” she barely got the word out.

            _“Me.”_

            His voice came from the deer, but his mouth did not move. It echoed as if it traveled through many filters before reaching her. Sometimes how the Brotherhood’s radios would sound. “You… were the stag that led me to Thorbjorn.”

            The buck shook his head side to side to sway his heavy antlers and rustle his coat. _“Aye. A mighty Alpha for my newest wolf. It was the only way to save you from those parasites!”_ The stag bowed his head and she thought she saw a flash of teeth. His hoof drug roughly through the dirt, several times, digging at it roughly, and then he shook again. _“The Blood suits you well. You do not come from Nirn, but you were meant to be here. I could not allow those leeches to get to you.”_

            Reagan swallowed and tucked the knives away, standing straighter as she looked the stag over. “Thank you. Who… are you?”

            _“Hircine, the Spirit of the Hunt.”_

            “So… you’re like a god?”

            A hearty laugh came from the animal and he tipped his head back to let out a long bugle call. And before he could speak, an arrow struck his side.

            Reagan yelped and jumped back from the stag as he tipped sideways, his strong legs suddenly weak, and he looked at her with wide, bright eyes. The fear of prey filled them, the same look a radstag gave before their death.

            The stag stepped forward and then stumbled, falling onto his side with a dying cry. Shaking her head, Reagan dropped to her knees and then looked up and around to find the shooter. There was no one in the mid-morning light.

            The Knight reached for the arrow to yank it from the crimson stained, white hide, but a black-gloved hand beat her to it. The woman materialized from the shadows, and there were few of those at the moment. She wore black leather from the hood over her head down to the boots on her feet; she even had a cape draped over her shoulders.

            A black and silver bow filled her left hand and she plucked her arrow from the stag, paying Reagan less than a glance. Her face was covered by more leather, only her eyes visible, but the Knight couldn’t see much, just shining orbs catching the light.

            “What have you _done_?” the growl was low and backed by her beast as the leather woman wiped her arrow off on the white fur of the deer.

            “Pardon the interruption, but I’m in the process of avenging a five-year-old.”

            “What–?” Reagan grabbed her knives and readied herself. The woman just as quickly had her arrow knocked and string pulled taut. Her beast burned in her chest again and she felt her spine crawl. Her body tensed as she readied herself to relax into her wolf form and tear into this woman.

            But then the stag shifted, the brightness making his fur white left him, and his glittering antlers parted. The white stag that she’d spoken to stepped out of the smaller, less impressive one that now lie dead and bloody between Reagan and the leather woman.

            _“Well met, huntress.”_

            Reagan’s body weakened and she dropped her blades, staring at the ghostly stag in front of her. A blue hue took over his white fur and now she could see through him like clean water. “But you were…” she looked down at the dead deer. They were like two different animals now.

            _“I am the Spirit of the Hunt, just one glimpse of the glorious stalker that your kind calls Hircine.”_

            “Great,” the leather woman spoke, stepping around the stag to get a better look at him. “One of your beasts murdered a little girl. He claims this ring made him turn and kill her against his will.” She lifted her hand to show the ring on her finger. In the flash that Reagan saw, it looked like a wolf’s head. “What are we going to do about this?”

            Hircine’s aspect shifted, looking at the ring. _“The one who stole my ring has fled to what he thinks is his sanctuary. Just as a bear climbs a tree to escape the hunt, but only ends up trapping himself. Seek out this rogue shifter. Tear the skin from his body, and make it an offering to me.”_

            “He’s done me no wrong–”

            “It shall be done as you ask,” Reagan cut in, stepping up to the short leather woman.

            Hircine’s gaze landed on her and then he looked back at the other woman. _“Fly, my hunters. There are others who vie for my favor. A bit of competition,”_ the voice was accompanied by what sounded like a smile. _“Don’t dally while the prey flees.”_ He looked at Reagan again. _“My favor comes with many advantages… especially for a shifter who seeks control.”_

            He faded then, tilting his head back, and he was gone, like a gust of air taking away smoke. The women turned to each other, the one in leather still had her bow drawn and ready to shoot if Reagan made a move against her. But neither were prepared for Thorbjorn coming through the mouth of the cave from the crypt.

            “Spadetail, where–” he cut himself off, his hand reaching for his warhammer.

            “Uh-uh,” the leather woman turned her bow on him. “I’ll get the arrow off before you even arm yourself.”

            “I’m harder to kill than a single arrow, little bird,” his lips pulled back over his teeth and his fingers wrapped around the hammer’s shaft.

            Reagan kept her narrowed eyes on the leather woman and she shifted her weight, seeming to gauge the threats. The Knight was closer but unarmed, and the Alpha had a pretty far reach with that warhammer. Slowly, she lowered her bow and straightened up. “I have no quarrel with you, wolves. My quarry is east.”

            “Our,” Reagan corrected, drawing the woman’s hooded gaze.

            “Pardon?”

            “ _Our_ quarry. He said hunter _s_ , and I need Hircine’s favor just like you want to avenge that kid.”

            “Hircine? You’ve spoken with him?” Thorbjorn stared at Reagan with wide eyes and then looked down at the dead deer between the women. She could almost see his hackles bristle.

            “Yes,” Reagan stated. “He said his favor could help me…”

            Immediately Thorbjorn’s body shifted, from ready to attack to wary. His silver eyes looked her over and then he nodded. “Aye, then we will gain his favor.”

            Both turned back to the woman in leather. She tipped her head at them and placed her bow on her back and her arrow in her quiver. “Then let’s get moving before the moon rises.”

            Reagan frowned but Thorbjorn let out a chuckle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who the hell is this new person? Who in Skyrim wears black leather from hood to toe with a cape and facemask? Damn... maybe I'm just making things up :P


	18. On My Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse and the gang make it to Markarth!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On My Way ~Brother Bear
> 
> Oops, sorry again for the delay, I've been working on other stories, and school totally kicked my ass. But! I have this back on track, and I may be able to get it finished within the coming months! I REALLY want to get it done before Christmas, so there's my goal. Plenty of time!

 

_His head was pounding. He rubbed at his temples and sat up only to smack his head on glass. A chuckle beside him made him open his eyes and look around. A woman was crouched down on the other side of the glass he’d hit. She was looking at him with bright hazel eyes and a smirk dimpling her cheeks. She was very pretty, and he couldn’t help but feel like he’d seen that freckled face before._

_“Who… are you?” he breathed and then touched his forehead. “Where am I?”_

_“I found you outside Goodneighbor, you had a nasty gash in your head.” She stood and opened the pod he was lying in. “I was trying to check your brain and make sure you didn’t suffer too much damage, but it appears you may have memory gaps.”_

_He stood up and groaned, his head swimming. “I… don’t remember anything.”_

_“Your friend said your name was Sebastian Danse when I asked. You were knocked out.” She reached up and touched his forehead. “He said you both are from the Capital Wasteland.”_

_That felt right. The name and the place. He couldn’t think of much else, and he glanced around. “My friend? Where is he?”_

_“I’ll take you to him,” she smiled and led him out of the building into the trash-filled streets of Goodneighbor. He knew of the place, but he had never been here before. How had he gotten so far from home? He shook his head and took the woman’s hand._

_“What is your name?”_

_“Valkyrie,” she grinned and turned to a man who approached. “This is Jason Cutler, your friend.”_

_“Hey, Bash, you feel better?” he took Sebastian around the shoulders in a tight embrace and rubbed at his black hair. The taller man lifted a brow at the contact, resisting the urge to shy away._

_“I… guess,” he breathed and looked at Valkyrie. “Are you coming with us? Back to the Capital Wasteland?”_

_“No, I have to stay here and help people, Bash,” she tilted her head and looked over at Cutler. “Jason here will take good care of you.”_

_“Come on, caravan’s gonna be leaving soon.”_

_Danse fell in step with Cutler and glanced back over his shoulder at Valkyrie, wondering if he’d ever see her again. She just waved back, a sad smile on her lips._

 

 

            Sebastian blinked away the sleep in his eyes. His earliest, clearest memory… because Valkyrie had been a Railroad agent, and Cutler had probably been one too.

            Frowning, he sat up and rubbed at his face roughly. What was he to the Institute? A personal assistant to one of the scientists? A guard? A Courser?

            A soft huff left his nose, almost turning into a snort, but he kept it to himself.

            “Good that you’re up, brother,” Vilkas knelt beside him and offered over a crudely carved wooden bowl of some sort of stew. “Eat and we’ll be off.”

            “I hope this isn’t your cooking,” he said to the nord, but took the stew and tilted it so that he could watch its contents shift. There was meat in it and potatoes, maybe that green stuff were leek slices maybe they weren’t.

            “No worries, the woman cooked it,” he said and sat down beside the Dragonborn. Danse had gotten used to not eating with silverware and put the bowl to his lips to drink it. Oriella had been a bard at the home Gregor guarded when she heard the fighting she hid from them, it took them until nightfall to realize she was there, and only because they didn’t notice the sheer difference in Gregor’s room’s cleanliness as opposed to the rest of the home. Vilkas found her and got himself a good kick to the nose.

            Once the men had settled her down and gotten her to stop screaming they explained the situation and… sort of resolved it.

            Oriella wasn’t like Gregor, either in that she owed Skaddi little to nothing, or that she could see that their group wasn’t of hostile intent. Now she kneeled in front of Duncan with a smile as she helped him with his bowl of stew. He seemed to enjoy it. Sebastian agreed it wasn’t the worst he’d had, but he didn’t have the taste for it right this moment, having just woken up, he wasn’t very hungry.

            But breaks were starting to come few and shorter, and stopping for the night wasn’t as desirable when you still had the memory of a bed in your mind.

            Rothruin was rinsing his bowl out in the stream and Vilkas handed him his to do next, assisting MacCready in packing up the last of their supplies. The Dragonborn watched the small group as he chewed the bits in the stew. There was something about this life, it was so different from the Commonwealth, from the Capital Wasteland, and he couldn’t quite place it.

            Other than the landscape of course.

            Both Skyrim and the Wastes were dangerous, but… it seemed his homeland was more… savage in a way, than the rolling hills and jutting mountains of Skyrim. Sure the people here were living without even ancient technology and power, but they lived… better than he would have imagined. There were few differences in how their daily routines went, while there was little to compare.

            Here one didn’t have to worry about radiation, didn’t have to worry about ghouls coming out of hidden places in the ground, didn’t have to worry about snipers or mortars or mini-nukes. The wildlife was still hostile, the land unforgiving in parts, and the bandits were just as bad as the raiders, but Danse felt like he could… relax here, and let his guard down.

            Vilkas knelt beside the former Brotherhood soldier and perked a dark brow at him. “What’s on your mind, brother?”

            “I like it here.”

            The nord nodded and looked out at the rising sun, and then elbowed the Dragonborn. “Come on then, let’s find your woman. We’re but a day and a half from Markarth, as a dragon flies.”

            Danse let out a chuckle and stood up, “If only we could ride them, eh?”

            The nord’s own laugh cut off and his brow twitched, blue eyes flicking to Rothruin who was pursing his lips. Sebastian’s eyes widened a little and he shook his head.

            “Wait, you can do that?”

            “Well… _you_ could… with the right dragon,” the high elf stated and rubbed at the maroon hair on his face. “To my knowledge, Skaddi only rode one dragon….”

            “Odahviing,” Vilkas confirmed. “She captured him in Dragon’s Reach in Whiterun and struck a deal with him to fight Alduin. He aided her from then on.”

            “Do you think he would aid me?”

            Both men’s nose wrinkled in paralleled doubt. “It’s hard to say,” Rothruin stated and then shrugged, “But I suppose stranger things have happened.”

            “Like a man from another world becoming _Dovahkiin_?” the Companion offered.

            “Like a _synth_ becoming _Dovahkiin_ ,” a voice behind the elf corrected and all the men looked at MacCready who’s brows shot up as if he realized his words had been spoken out loud. Only Danse knew what he’d said though, based on the way the men of Skyrim raised curious looks. He didn’t care to translate and simply did his best to hide the glare that was fighting his brow.

            “Come on, we need to head out,” the Dragonborn stated and the others finished packing up while he paid extra attention to his gear, contemplating the mercenary in his squad.

 

 

            Markarth was like no city Sebastian had seen. Tucked into the cliffs of the Reach, it was a city of and surrounded by stone. He couldn’t see a way to force your way in other than by vertibird drop –which wasn’t going to happen here. The front gate was thick metal, propped open to allow entry, but if they were shut, he couldn’t fathom the force that it would take to enter.

            “Welcome to Markarth,” Rothruin grinned and waved his hand around as they stepped into the marketplace. “The second most corrupt city in Skyrim.”

            “Second?” the Dragonborn looked to Vilkas who smirked.

            “Riften hasn’t a single guard loyal to the law. In Markarth you may find one or two,” then he turned his pale gaze on the high elf. “Don’t you know a man in green?”

            Jade cloaks were draped over the shoulders of the guards, so Sebastian assumed he was speaking of the guards. The mage grinned widely and nodded, shifting his ebony helmet under his arm. “Aye, a fine nord by the name Wulfjar Snowraven, he should be about. I’ll seek him out, you continue to the Dragonborn’s estate,” he gestured for them to go without him and then took his leave, bowing to Danse on his way.

            “Argis was from this city wasn’t he?” Sebastian asked the Companion. The other man nodded, his face grave.

            “Aye, Skaddi’s first housecarl, her first… friend in Skyrim as well. I did not meet her until they were already long traveled together.”

            Danse nodded and frowned. “I’m happy she has no way of knowing he’s gone.” It wasn’t fair and wasn’t right what happened. She now had three fewer housecarls because of him and the choices he’d made. If he had been more aware –if he’d been better–

            A heavy hand grabbed his shoulder and brought Sebastian from his thoughts. Vilkas was looking him in the eyes, pale blue to creamy brown. “We’ll find Reagan, then speak with this Dawnguard. The vampires will fear the new _Dovahkiin_ ,” he growled, showing his teeth. They were just too sharp and it reminded him of the past this nord had. He’d been a werewolf, he could turn into a beast like Reagan could now.

            How useful it would have been had he kept it…

            But Vilkas had suffered under the blood, and Sebastian didn’t wish that on his friend. “Come on, the estate’s this way, bother,” the Companion started for the stairs that led up a cliffside.

            MacCready was faster to follow that the former Paladin, his son trampling along in front of him hurriedly. Oriella waited politely for Danse to start moving. She was looking around, her lips turned down in a frown as she eyed the marketplace.

            “What is it?” Sebastian asked her softly so that only she could hear. She looked at him startled and then shook her head.

            “It’s foolish.”

            “I doubt it,” he stated and she looked over his face before pursing her lips and nodding toward the stalls. “Is it not strange that the meat stand lay abandoned? Blood stained from years of work and yet no one stands there today? And customers come to it with searching eyes as if they are not aware the owner was missing.”

            “You think something happened to him?”

            “Something the city knows nothing of… a place like this? Gossip spreads like magic fire.” Her eyes narrowed and then she sighed and nodded on toward the others, “Come, Dragonborn, we’ll be left wandering if we dally more.”

            The Markarth home Skaddi had was large, but had few windows, meaning that in the dim lighting of the evening, the dark, dusty space was far from welcoming. It reminded him of a lot of untouched places in the Wastes he’d explored. Homes and office buildings and stores that had somehow been untouched for the two hundred years they sat, waiting for use again. His power armor always kicked up enough dust to cause his suit to proclaim the air hazardous.

            Not enough dust had formed in the year this place sat untouched for their passing into it to cause _that_ much of a cloud, but it did stick to his throat and laced his nose in a way that caused the Dragonborn and his companions to heave with coughs until their airways were clear. Duncan had the worst of it and was quickly ushered out of the house as his father scooped him up and took him outside. Oriella huffed at the sight of the home and shook her head.

            “I won’t be cleaning this.”

            Vilkas turned around, grinning at her, “We don’t need you to. If we wish the state improved we’ll have a service come.”

            She nodded, seeming satisfied and then steered for a door, “I’ll see the condition of the kitchen and get dinner started.”

            When it was just Vilkas, Rothruin, and Danse, the former paladin turned to the fireplace and then walked over to a chair sitting beside it, tipped so that the cushion was spared from dust collection. “They didn’t expect to return for a long time…. Why would she buy the home?”

            “Thanes must own a home in the city. And she most likely didn’t pay taxes, being Dragonborn, so it was a place to call home should she need it.” The high elf pulled a chair away from where it was rested and then sat down into it slowly, checking the integrity of the wood.

            Vilkas folded his arms. “I don’t suppose that the jarl will believe us if we told him Skaddi passed the property on?”

            The high elf chuckled, turning his orange eyes up to the nord, “He’s of your people. You’d know better than me, Companion.”

            “Ah, the gold of your skin blinds me, yet I hear the words of a son of Skyrim when your lips part,” the dark nord tossed his hand at the elf. “You know as well as I, my kin are not so different wherever we hail.”

            “As true as a bosmer arrow,” the mage grinned and then looked over to the Dragonborn lazily. “A matter for the morning, nonetheless.”

            Danse agreed, he was tired and didn’t think he could appeal to a jarl. But he also wasn’t ready to turn in. There was still sunlight pouring over the stone walls into the city, enough to search for Reagan. He pulled out her letter, taking the other seat as he skimmed over it again.

            She wasn’t in Markarth yet so she didn’t give any indication on where to meet her. And he had little way of knowing how long the letter took to get to him, but when he pulled out his map he saw her letters beside his, a cluster stuck shifting over each other.

            “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that map,” Vilkas breathed and Sebastian looked up at him.

            “I just imagine it like a terminal.”

            “Terminal?” Rothruin lifted a brow.

            Danse nodded, “Where I come from we have… computers, these machines that have screens and show words and graphics…” as he spoke the other two men blinked and quickly were lost. Either because of the translation of because it simply _didn’t_ translate. “Um… never mind.”

            Vilkas nodded, “Your land is strange.”

            “So is yours,” the former soldier sighed and stood up. “I’m going to try to find Reagan. If I know her, she’s wandering the city without permission. I’m sure I’ll run into her if she doesn’t spot me first.”

            Vilkas shifted. “I should come with you. The City of Stone isn’t to be trusted. Not with the life of the new Dragonborn, especially.”

            Rothruin nodded, “Probably best for me to remain here with the boy and his father. The woman will require aid in the kitchen also,” he stood and bowed his head to Danse before heading into the kitchen.

            Sebastian was grateful for the company, but he had also wanted a moment alone. If he did find Reagan, he didn’t want Vilkas hovering, but… he also didn’t know if he would run into trouble. It was best to have a Skyrim local close by, though, because even with Danse’s attention to detail, he got lost in the cliff streets of the Stone City.

            They ended up stopping at a blacksmith’s shop that was closing up. Vilkas was looking at the wares as the apprentice took them in to store away for the night, but the Dragonborn was looking at the nord man speaking with the orc woman.

            “…I want it to suit her. The armor looks… wrong on her,” the tall man stated, his voice low. Danse had spent years getting good at picking out voices with extra noise. The waterfalls may have skewed what the man was saying to someone else, and maybe it was because he was a synth that he was able to pick out the difference, but he could hear them talking.

            “You said she’s not of Skyrim, yes? Then your people’s armor will not suit her. I cannot make her armor if I do not know what suits her, though,” the orc said, her voice sounding like a ghoul’s, low and raspy.

            Keeping his eyes away from them so as not to look like he was eavesdropping, the Dragonborn wasn’t able to get a good description of the man, save that he appeared to be a blonde nord with his face painted in streaks, and old, old armor. His voice was strong, like Vilkas’, but seemed to be deeper. “I’ll bring her by in the morning.”

            “That’s fine, Golden-Hilt. Now, get on home. The Silver-Bloods have made their opinion of you very clear and I don’t wish to lose my shop for you.”

            The nord grinned and leaned down to look at the orc evenly, allowing Danse to see his eyes reflect light like a dog’s. “I would never allow them to take this shop from you.”

            “You haven’t the coin to keep me from their hands,” she snapped half-heartedly, but the nord straightened up and lifted a shoulder.

            “There’s more than silver that runs through Markarth. I’ll return in the morning, Ghorza.”

            “Get on, boy,” she swatted her hand at him and he turned, looking at Sebastian briefly before leaving.

            In the moment their gazes locked Danse felt his spine stiffen. Silver eyes that reflected light like a hound’s. The smile he flashed in polite greeting was a baring of too-sharp-teeth too much like Vilkas’.

            Then he was gone, headed toward the direction that the former soldier thought was the front of the city, and Skaddi’s estate– his. His estate.

            “Vilkas, do you know that man?”

            The Companion glanced up and looked at the nord in question, his nose twitched and he shrugged, “He have a name?”

            “Golden-Hilt?” he supplied, using the name the smith woman used.

            “Ah, he’ll be a son of Tojar then, a noble here –well, before he passed on to Sovngarde that is,” he corrected and then looked over the Dragonborn’s face. “You well, brother?”

            “I think he’s the one that has Reagan….”

            Vilkas’ brows drew together and he looked after the other man as he turned a corner. “You think he’s the wolf?”

            “Can’t hurt to follow him.”

            “Aye… it can hurt, but what’s a little pain for a woman?”


	19. Friends on the Other Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunion!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends on the Other Side ~Princess and the Frog

**Reagan**

            “We’ve wasted a whole day!” the leather wearing woman slammed the metal tankard against the wooden table and Reagan folded her arms.

            “Where I come from you prepare for a mission that takes you _halfway across the map_ ,” the snarl was backed by her beast, but the hooded woman seemed unfazed. She was really starting to piss the knight off. People who weren’t scared by scary things were usually _stupid_ , pretending to be courageous and it got people killed.

            “‘Where you come from’? And where is that?” She still hadn’t taken off her hood or the mask over her face, but with some of the lighting, Reagan was able to see her skin was ashy blue and she had crimson eyes. An elf, dark elf if she remembered right. There was one at the Companion’s base in Whiterun.

            “A _magical_ land called ‘Nunya-fucking-business.’ Shut up, stop complaining, and when Thorbjorn gets back we’ll leave.”

            "You have no business ordering me around, foreigner. I should have just gone after the beast myself instead of bothering with you dumbasses."

            “Watch who you’re calling dumbass, fucker,” Reagan growled, the beast was clawing at its cage, making it harder and harder for her to keep it down. “I have a lit fuse and you’re holding the dynamite.”

            The dark elf shifted, her mask skewing as if she wrinkled her nose, she seemed surprised that Reagan understood what she said, and then she blinked. “The fuck is a fuse?” Then she turned her head slightly, “The fuck is dynamite?”

            A wicked smile split Reagan’s lips, showing off too-long teeth, “Now who’s the dumbass? It’s a candle that explodes when the wick ends.” Despite that, the woman simply shook her head. Her arms were crossed over her small chest and her gloved hands gripped her biceps as if she was resisting grabbing a weapon. What Reagan would have given to have her laser rifle, or even a ten millimeter.

            “You aren’t the only one blessed by the daedra,” the dark elf stated, seeming to straighten her shoulders to look bigger despite her next words. “The brute strength given to you by Hircine’s touch matters not when your target is one with the shadows.”

            For just a moment, the knight remembered the woman in front of her stepping out of the shadows –the very few shadows– of that morning. She could disappear like nothing that Reagan had seen, but she knew why people did that. “If you have to hide in the shadows to win a fight, then your fear is obvious.”

            They both had had enough of each other. The dark elf let out a wordless cry of rage. Her eyes flashed, but before Reagan could catch it, she lit up like a compromised vertibird. Fire touched her from hood to toe and she opened her arms in an unspoken challenge to the former soldier before her.

            Reagan was more than happy to oblige.

            Relaxing out of her human form, the beast roared, throwing her head back and howling so loud the dark elf actually staggered back, hitting the table. The wood caught fire, the mats and napkins following suit. She didn’t look at it, only locking her golden stare on the fire-enshrouded elf.

            Leaping forward, the wolf took the elf to the ground, breaking the table with the force. The elf screamed and lashed out, her hands equipped with blades that the wolf hadn’t yet noticed. Her fire burned the beast, but it simple growled louder and tightened its grip on her neck as her other hand fought to pin down one of the flailing arms.

            The chokehold was broken when the other dagger found the beast’s side and opened a deep wound, spilling blood down onto the cobbled floor.

            The wolf threw her head back and then grabbed the arm that offended her and pinned it to the ground. Now the elf was staring up with wide, crimson eyes.

            For a second, the beast looked into those eyes, her muzzle twitching as her lips pulled back over the wolfish teeth. There was no fear in that crimson stare, only regret, a small, distant thing that the beast didn’t really notice, but that Reagan within did. The beast pulled back slightly so as to add force to the final blow.

            “ _Enough!_ ”

            The rage-filled bellow pulled at the beast’s heart and immediately she was off of the elf, pulling back and looking at the room around her.

            When had Thorbjorn come in? And who were the men behind him? Wait–

            “Sei?”

            Reagan fell out of the beast, trying to take a step forward, but instead, she ended up stumbling and hit the ground hard. The paladin was at her side in a moment, pulling her up to look at her face and bleeding side to make sure she was going to be okay. She couldn’t believe it was him, here, in Markarth.

            He looked so different, older in some ways, by the lines creasing his eyes, the silver hairs in his mustache and flecking his temples. The hair along his jaw was longer, as was the hair on his head, he hadn’t cut it since she saw him last and now it was the longest she’d ever seen him wear it. He wore Skyrim armor, steel and leather, and had their laser rifles on his back. A smile came to her lips, soft and sad.

            “It’s me,” he whispered and cupped her face, his other hand sliding down to rest on her stomach, and then he looked at the burns on her hands. They were already healing, as was the wound in her side. It was high, away from their child, otherwise, neither of them would have been so calm. “Is everything okay? Are you all right?”

            Thorbjorn was kneeling beside Sebastian, his silver eyes narrowed as he looked between them. She didn’t feel the beast anymore, not like she thought she would according to what the Alpha had told her. But she was surprised to see Danse did not look at her any different than he had before. His brown eyes were so full of love she felt tears prick at her eyes. “I’m fine, Sei, I’m… I’m fine,” she whispered and touched his face, looking him over like it had been years since they last saw each other rather than the month it’d been.

            Then her paladin pulled her against his chest and kissed her cheek. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again, Reagan. _Never_.”

            She sniffled and cleared her throat, taking in the smell of him. Her beast’s nose could still smell the faint tang of metal from power armor, but now he had a hint of earth, sweat dampen it, but she could pick it out from the other aromas. She liked it. It suited him. Boots on the ground was always his thing, so of course, he would smell like the earth. A soft cry left her, “I shouldn’t have left, Sei, I’m so sorry.”

            There was a throat clearing above them and Reagan looked up, trying her best to keep the fact she was near tears to herself. The dark elf was standing with arms crossed, looking between everyone, while Wulfjar stood beside a very big high elf and Vilkas in the doorway. Both of them were looking at Thorbjorn who had moved away from her and Danse now that he was comforted with her not attacking him. And Mjolvanir had put out the fire caused by the elf while everyone was distracted.

            Suddenly realizing they weren’t alone, Sebastian stood up and pulled Reagan with him, keeping room between them, but his hand in hers. “Then you’re the one that turned her into a werewolf,” Danse finally said, looking at Thorbjorn.

            The nord lifted his chin, lips pursed as he judged the situation. “Aye.”

            The paladin’s jaw tightened. “Why?” It wasn’t stated like a question, but it demanded an answer all the same. His voice was lowered, a growl that almost rivaled one that had the beast backing it. Thorbjorn didn’t seem affected but nodded once to show he understood how the other man felt.

            For a second, Reagan looked up at Danse and wondered how he would be with the blood. Thorbjorn wore it well, she couldn’t imagine him without it, and Wulfjar even had tendencies in his human form that showed he made a good wolf. With the blood, Sebastian would be stronger, faster, and have sharper senses. She was just getting used to it, but he had always been a faster learner than her –her stubbornness and emotions usually dragging her down. Danse was composed and took every opportunity to better himself.

            “She was attacked by vampires and tainted by their spell. If I hadn’t given her the blood, she would have lost the child to their infection.”

            The answer was simple, and it seemed far more so than what Danse was expecting because he tightened his grip on her hand. He wanted to be mad, but he couldn’t because it had been the best choice. Sebastian wasn’t the sort to hold onto anger either, and this wasn’t an exception. He wasn’t going to be mad at Thorbjorn when the only thing the man did was help and protect her. So he nodded and said, “Thank you.”

            This seemed to surprise Thorbjorn because he blinked and then inclined his head, “I’ve been training her so that she can control the blood. She’s been a fast learner.”

            “He’s lying, I’m a horrible student, but you know that already, sir,” she grinned and gave Danse’s chest a poke. He looked down at her with his own knowing smile. They had been each other’s first when it came to squiring missions. She remembered how excited she was to go out, but how disappointed she’d been when she learned she got assigned to the new knight.

            She had grown up in the Brotherhood, both of her parents also being born into it, while Danse had shown up as an Initiate, already eighteen and ready to be trained in the ways of a knight or lancer. Reagan was ten and not impressed at all. He was nice, though, and smiled at her saying, ‘I look forward to working with you, but I don’t think I can teach you anything you don’t already know.’ She’d been arrogant enough to agree with him. How wrong they both were. But look at them now.

            Sebastian pulled her into his side and kissed her temple. “I’m just happy I found you,” he whispered and held her close, tightly.

            "It seems I owe you an apology. I was unaware you were with child,” the dark elf came forward and summoned a golden spell. "If either of you are injured, allow me to assist, please."

            Reagan couldn’t resist the urge to make a comment, “At least your dagger wasn’t as true as your arrow, am I right?” She pulled the clothing away from her side to show the closed wound. Though it didn’t bleed now, it was still red and bloody from what had come from it.

            “If I had intended to kill you, I would have.” The words were stated simply, not a threat, but the other woman didn’t like them either way.

            “I have no intention of dying, and that means it will take more than one little dark elf to bring me down. If it wouldn’t have been for Thorbjorn, you’d be headless now.”

            “Stop it, the both of you,” the Alpha growled, his voice low and backed with his beast. Reagan stiffened and frowned at the dark elf, but didn’t say anything else while she simply raised her brow at the male and let her healing spell fade away.

            Danse spoke up, “I apologize, but who are you?”

            “Vethisa Andrethi. I am chasing after a rogue werewolf that murdered a little girl in Falkreath.”

            The high elf folded his arms, a smile on his lips, “Andrethi? As in House Telvanni?”

            Thorbjorn’s ears perked at that and he smirked at the shorter elf, “Telvanni? Didn’t one of their girls just run from a marriage?”

            The elf crossed her arms, “You get set up with that dreadful dumbass my mother chose for me and see if you stay in Morrowind.”

            Thorbjorn’s grin showed his teeth, but he nodded, “Understandable.”

            Reagan cleared her throat and looked to Danse, “Anyway, the wolf is near Whiterun, we were packing for the trip.”

            Wulfjar clapped the high elf on the shoulder with a familiar smile the man returned, “I imagine we’re all traveling together now? What’re we up to now? Seven?” He looked over the cluster in the room, seeming to skip over Mjolvanir who had busied herself in the kitchen.

            “No, we still have another nord,” Reagan said, looking around as she now realized he was missing. “Where’s Argis?”

            Sebastian frowned and looked over at Vilkas who turned his eyes to the ground just like the high elf did. Her heart sank and she widened her eyes to look up at her man. The paladin swallowed thickly and said, “He… didn’t make it. He was attacked by vampires in Winterhold….”

            “What?” her voice nearly cracked. “But he –he was our only connection to Skaddi! Without him how–?” her jaw clamped shut and her fists drew up tight. She could feel the beast coming up, but she couldn’t let it out again, not yet, not now.

            “Skaddi? You mean the Dragonborn?”

            Everyone turned to look at the woman in leather. She tilted her hooded head and Vilkas nodded once to answer her, then spoke, “Aye, Dragonborn Skaddi of Solestheim.”

            The elf shook her head, “You’re better off not connected to her. As far as those chosen by the divines go, she was probably the worst I’ve seen in my 380 years.”

            Danse was the first to speak because Reagan was caught off guard by the woman’s age. “What are you talking about? She saved Skyrim from Alduin.”

            “Yeah, and she always talked about all those other titles of hers. Thane of the Holds, Leader of the Thieves Guild, and Brotherhood something…?” Reagan waved a hand, figuring they knew what she was talking about.

            But then Vilkas shifted, looking uncomfortable, “She took leadership of other factions?”

            The high elf cleared his throat, stiffening and breathed a noise that sounded like ‘uh oh.’

            “Leader of the Thieves Guild and Listener of the Dark Brotherhood. Maven Blackbriar was ecstatic when her two groups of henchmen ended up led by the same person. The Guild has gotten out from under her thumb since out _beloved Guild Master_ disappeared. Can’t say the same about the delightful band of assassins.”

            Vilkas wrinkled his nose, looking down at the dark elf, “Skaddi wouldn’t work with thieves and pickpockets.”

            Thorbjorn held up his hand to silence the next person who went to speak and then gestured around, “Obviously our Dragonborn has known many occupations, but that doesn’t dismiss the fact she was our Dragonborn and did save Skyrim from the World Eater. As for now, she is gone. I think that’s more important to focus on at the moment.” It was a rational argument, but Reagan wasn’t feeling rational, not when her friend was being slandered.

            “What do you mean ‘we’re better off without her’, though? Obviously, she did something right if she was your leader?” she stepped closer to the elf.

            “Leader she may have been, but she only looked down upon us. Nocturnal did not mourn the loss of one of her Champions and I was soon raised to the position of Nightingale in her place. Our new Guild Masters have actually worked toward bettering the Guild. You’re better off without her because she was selfish and used people to get what she wanted. I have never seen her do something without an ulterior motive.”

            Vilkas stepped forward before Reagan could speak. “Then you did not know her well. She came to the Companions and did in a month what we were not able to do in years. She did nothing for herself when under the roof of Jorrvaskr.”

            Reagan nodded, “When the Paladin and I traveled with her in the Commonwealth we never saw anything but a woman who wanted to help us before she went home. She did everything she could to come back here. But when she was finally able to? She gave up that chance to save Sebastian,” she pointed to Danse.

            “All right! _All of you!_ ” Thorbjorn howled so loud that whoever tried to speak next would be easily overpowered. “The Dragonborn is not _here_. It seems that she had many lives that no one knew well. No more will be spoken of the missing Dragonborn! Or divines bless my blade _I will cut you down_. This is _my home_. You are guests. And we have a quest,” he narrowed his eyes at each of them in turn, daring them to speak.

            Reagan and Wulfjar stiffened and nodded, unable to disobey their Alpha. Danse, Vilkas, and the high elf relax and nod, but don’t seem as content as the wolves.

            The dark elf somehow looked satisfied, even with most of her face covered.

            “Now, let us finish packing, and we will be on our way.”


	20. Kill the Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reagan and Danse talk about his news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kill the Beast ~Beauty and the Beast

**Danse**

            Reagan didn’t look at him while she packed her things into the knapsack she insisted to the blonde nord was all she needed. Thorbjorn was his name and he seemed nice enough, taking care of her like a father or brother –that helped ease the tension in his back.

            When Thorbjorn left them, Sebastian expected the former knight to… do something like she normally does. Mostly he expected her to leap onto him and take him to the floor or bed. He wasn’t necessarily disappointed, but he was surprised, and now her lack of eye contact made him uncomfortable.

            What should he say? How do you pick up after the time they’d spent apart? It wasn’t so long as to make them completely different people, but… they were different now. He was Dragonborn and she was a wolf. Did she even know about him yet? How does one break that sort of news to a loved one?

            “I missed you, Sei.”

            Her voice was soft as she refolded a shirt and then rolled it before putting it down in the pack. He came to her side and stood near enough her arm brushed his stomach when it moved. “I wish I could have found you faster. I… I should have been here sooner.”

            “I know you got here as fast as you could, Sebastian,” she turned around and looked up at him, her lips curling into a smile. Her freckled cheeks pressed up into her silver eyes and he felt his heart thump painfully. She looked so much like herself, but so different. Not just the silver irises, but her body, it was… leaner? Reagan had always had extra weight to her, he liked it, it showed her health, but now she was thinner in the arms and legs while her stomach and breasts held fast. She looked more predatory in the face, her teeth more white than they’d ever been –as if they’d been renewed– and now sharper, like Vilkas’. Her skin was clearer as well, the underlying yellow and green from having grown up in radiation was gone, leaving her olive skin looking purer and healthier. And most of all her hair was different. It was thicker, at least twice so, and the blonde roots fading to brown ombre.

            Her golden brows tugged together and he realized he was staring at her. “You’re beautiful, Reagan.”

            Her cheeks went pink and then she looked down, clearing her throat, “Even with all the changes? I think I’m getting fat –I don’t think you’ll keep saying that when we get into the later months, yeah?”

            “You’ll always be beautiful,” he said lowly and laid his hands on her gently. He touched her shoulder and her stomach, then slid the former to her neck and used his thumb on her jaw to tilt her face up to him. “I love you. I know I don’t say it often,” he leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers, “But I _always_ feel it.”

            Her breath wavered and then she pressed her lips to his, needy and hot. Both of her hands came up to hold his face, hang on his neck, and run through his hair, musing the length that was still unfamiliar to him. She seemed to like it, tangling those long fingers of hers in it as she pulled him closer and curved her spine to press her hips to his. Need was obvious on her, somehow suppressed until now, or maybe it just hit her?

            He didn’t care, this was the Reagan he’d expected moments ago and he wasn’t going to let her go. Not again. Not while he had the choice to be with her, at her side –in front of her– holding her, touching her… kissing her.

            They ended up on the bed, with him on top of her, hands clumsily reaching for the other’s clothes to remove them. His armor didn’t move much, but she found the belts that were important and freed him below, allowing her access to his throbbing length. She was easier, dressed in clothing as she had changed for the day into something comfortable. Her riding pants were tossed to the ground and promptly forgotten.

            She must have liked the armor on him because she smiled up at him when he pulled back and looked down at her. Her silver eyes flicked wildly across him, taking him all in before she shimmied her rear closer to the edge of the bed to allow him entrance while he stood. Reagan had always liked things rough, and he enjoyed giving it to her to see the pleasure on her face. At first, he had thought they needed something sweet and romantic, but that was obviously not what either of them had in mind.

            The primal need was too much, being away from each other had made them hungry and now it was time to feed. No time to strip either of them down to their skin, but enough to give the other just what they wanted most.

            Her legs wrapped around his waist and pulled him closer as he guided his head to her heat and then sunk in deep, sheathing himself to the hilt with her. His woman’s back arched beautifully and he watched her breasts sway, free of binding under the loose shirt she wore now. With an armored hand, he took hold of one of those peaks and gave the painfully obvious nipple a twist. His Reagan groaned and gripped the sheets on the bed with tight, white fists. Her head tipped back to tangle her hair as she writhed in the bed. Her silver eyes flashed gold when she looked up at him but squeezed shut when he quickened his thrusts.

            The groans she made were deeper, wilder than he remembered, but it drove him closer to his end quicker than he was expecting and Sebastian had to grit is own teeth and turn his thoughts to the city outside the window to keep from ending the moment right there.

            She evenly swore and praised his name, her voice throated and raw. Her fingers curled and then grabbed hold of his armor, pulling him down to her so they were closer. So she could tangle those fingers in his hair. So she could look into his eyes. So she could bite his lip and kiss him so deeply he just couldn’t hold back anymore.

            Her tongue danced with his.

            His hands supported his weight against the mattress.

            Her legs trapped his hips against hers.

            And he came, filling her with his love.

 

 

            Reagan was smiling as she finished packing her bag. Danse couldn’t help but stare at her. He still needed to tell her about being Dragonborn and about Vilkas. It was eating at him, making him feel guilty despite the his lack of fault. At least he didn’t think there was fault on his side. Had he somehow led the Companion to think of him in a romantic way?

            “You still with me, sir?”

            Sebastian stepped out of his thoughts and back into the present, looking at his woman with a soft smile, “I’m here. But I have to talk to you about some… things.”

            “Uh oh,” her pale brows drew together and she perched herself on the edge of the bed, looking up at him. “Okay, I’m sitting, lay it on me.”

            He couldn’t help but chuckle and stepped up to stand in front of her, between her spread knees so that her face was in his chest. The view of her like this, looking up at him with expectation and adoration caused his thoughts to falter before focusing. “It’s not as bad as you’re thinking… I hope.”

            “You hope? Christ, Sei,” she laughed and pressed her forehead into his stomach’s armor then she stared up at him. “Just spit it out –gonna give me a heart attack at this rate.”

            “The first thing is… well,” he grunted and rubbed the back of his neck. Reagan grabbed his breastplate and he shifted, “I’m… Dragonborn, Reagan. Like Skaddi…”

            Her face went slack, obviously not expecting that, and then her brows jumped high and her silver eyes blinked rapidly. “You’re… you’re Dragonborn…?” Then she shook her head and wet her lips. “Like Skaddi…”

            “Yes.”

            Her lips pursed and then she looked over him again. “I knew there was something different about you, Sei. You’re…” she tilted her head side to side as if she couldn’t decide on the word she wanted, “More confident.”

            “More confident?” he lifted a thick, black brow at her and she grinned, showing her wolfish teeth.

            “Yeah, it’s sexy.” He felt a blush coming up his neck and spreading to his cheeks from the bridge of his nose. The look she was giving him while she bit her lip made him want to peel her clothes right back off her, but he resisted the urge and stepped away from her.

            “As for the second thing,” he said softly and tried to think of how best to word it. Reagan stood up, looking him in the eye, waiting patiently –oddly it seemed out of character for her. “It has to do with Vilkas.”

            Her lips curled into a smirk and her brows skewed, “What’d he do? You got the same look about you Michael had when we played truth or dare with Logan and Merr.”

            Danse chuckled to try to ease his nerves. He never played the game, but he’d heard stories about Knight, Glass, Rhys, and Debrie –even with Haylen. And knowing the Lancer-Sergeant, the situation may have been similar. Then his chuckle cut off and his hand came up to rub at the thick hair growing on his jaw. “Three… three things I have to talk to you about.”

            That caught her attention, the smirk on her face fell away immediately and her silver eyes widened. He could tell she already knew what the new subject focused around, but he couldn’t for the life of him think of a new way to break both sets of news. Michael was more important, though, and he knew that had to come first.

            “Michael… was killed, Reagan.”

            She stumbled back and he lurched forward to grab her arms and steady her. Her eyes flashed gold and her skin burned through his gauntlets, but he didn’t let her go. Reagan sat down and shook her head, her teeth curling back over her teeth. He couldn’t be sure, but they looked longer.

            “How–? What happened? How do you know?” she blinked and looked up at him. “He was fine, he was… he was there, I saw him before we left, he was fine!” Her voice rose higher and higher until it was a screech. “He was fine! He was fine, Sebastian!” she grabbed his biceps, her fingers curling so hard he felt the pressure of the metal bending. “He flew Skaddi to us! He was right there, what do you mean he was killed?”

            “Reagan, please,” he held her tightly and made her look at him. “Please calm down.”

            “ _Calm_ down? This is _Michael_ ,” she howled, one hand going to her chest and she sunk from the bed to the floor looking as if she just couldn’t take anymore. A sob tore through her and she shook her head. “How can he… he can’t be!” She looked up at him, “How do you know?”

            “The mercenary that worked with Nate Briars is here, Skaddi sent him as well, with his son Duncan, Duncan told me what happened.”

            Her brows were knitted tightly together and her nostrils flared. “How did it happen?”

            His jaw set and he knelt down to put himself on her level. “MacCready shot him…”

            The silver in her eyes was taken over by liquid gold. The black of her pupils spread wide as her lips drew back over her teeth to show them grow longer. Her nails dragged across the stone floor, leaving scars in the rock.

            “Reagan–”

            “Where is he?” she growled, the words barely sounding human.

            “I don’t–”

            She stood up quickly; pushing passed him and ripped the door open so that she was thrown into the hallway with enough force to hit the wall and crack it. Danse turned and followed after her, but she knew the house better, making it to the front door by jumping over the side of the stairs and hit the ground running.

            Thorbjorn tried to grab her arm, but she slipped from his grasp, and when he told her to come back she ignored him, leaving him with a perplexed expression. The other nord, the one that knew Rothruin, ran after her.

            Sebastian made it to the door as the others gathered. “Where is she going?” Thorbjorn asked, his face professional and urgent.

            “She’s looking for MacCready, she knows he killed her friend.”

            “Damn the nine,” the nord growled and rushed out the door. Vilkas took Danse’s shoulder and made him turn to look at him.

            “What is this, brother?” his blue eyes showed his worry and confusion.

            “She’s going to kill MacCready –probably,” he added and they both followed the others. Vilkas took the lead, steering them down narrow paths with barely a halfway to keep you from tumbling right over the side down the long cliffs to the streets below. In moments they were outside Skaddi’s home, the door broken off its hinges. “Oh no…”

            “Damn,” the Companion stepped through the door carefully and Danse hopped in, less gracefully but only because he could hear shouting and screaming from within the house. It was a mix of voices, but the one that made his heart wrench was Reagan’s screech over the rest of them.

            “… _you killed him!_ ”

            “I didn’t have a choice!” MacCready was holding her wrist and forearm as his feet dangled a foot off the floor. Reagan didn’t even seem to notice she was holding the slight man as if he was a sack of tatoes. Duncan was beating on her thigh and hip, trying to get her to let him go, but she didn’t even look at the boy –as if she didn’t even notice him. Thorbjorn stood back, watching the events with the other blonde nord, seeming confused as if they didn’t know if they wanted to stop her anymore. “He was trying to get Skaddi out of the Institute! If I wouldn’t have shot him, someone else would have and they wouldn’t have cured Duncan!”

            Reagan shook her head, “You _selfish_ fuck!” Her voice was pitched so high it almost stung Danse’s ears. Her golden eyes looked wild as she bared her teeth at him. “You sided against us! We could have helped you, _and_ Nate! But you sided with _them_!” she spat.

            “They had Duncan’s cure–!”

            “You’re just a weak, honorless, spineless, little hatchetman,” Reagan seethed, squeezing his throat so he couldn’t speak, “Who got in over his head. You don’t get to kill one of mine and walk around pretending like you can justify it!”

            “Reagan,” Danse stepped forward. Duncan finally noticed him and spun around.

            “Dansey!” he screamed and pulled on Reagan’s shirt. “Stop her! Stop the bad lady! She’s hurting daddy! Why is she hurting him?”

            Reagan threw the sniper away from her. He hit the wall hard enough to bounce off and land on the ground in a groaning, crippled heap. Duncan ran to him and then turned to face Reagan, his hands outstretched as if to shield his father. Her lips were pulled back over her teeth and when Danse went forward to grab her shoulder, she stepped away and pushed the boy aside as if he were nothing. The boy’s bad balance tossed him to the ground where Vilkas came up and picked him up –not for comfort, but to keep him from getting involved further.

            “Dansey!” he screeched and the Paladin took Reagan’s arm roughly enough to get her to turn on him.

            “Don’t do it, Reagan. If you kill him, what happens to Duncan? How does killing him resolve what happened to Michael?”

            “A life for a life,” her words were low, her dilated eyes didn’t seem to actually see him. “His isn’t worth Michael’s, but it’ll do.”

            “Don’t. Skaddi sent him here–”

            “Skaddi isn’t here!” she yelled and ripped her arm from his grasp. Her hand gestured to the mercenary on the ground, all fingers pointing in the familiar military style they both practiced. “He’s here, and he needs to answer for his actions. Killing raiders comes with consequences if you don’t kill the whole gang. Killing a settler isn’t any different. Kill a _Brother_?” she emphasized the word, looking at him carefully, her focus drawn on his eyes. “You’ll have the whole Goddamned Brotherhood of Steel after you for that. There’s only two here to carry out the sentence.” Her gaze flitted over to the man on the ground.

            He looked pathetic now, either the manhandling or the words having gotten to him, but he was on his forearms, trying to get to his hands and knees, but his body shook. He was a broken man, too much bad luck and too many bad choices put him here, weaponless and at the mercy of a vengeful woman fueled by a wolf and a child growing in her womb.

            “Please, Reagan. Think about this,” Sebastian begged.

            “I have.”

            Then his woman kicked the sniper over onto his back. His grunt was mirrored by the cry of his boy. Vilkas turned away to keep him from seeing, but Danse still tried to stop her. He grabbed her arm only to be pushed back, her hand on his chest hard enough to knock the breath out of him. He staggered into Thorbjorn who grabbed his arm to steady and restrain him.

            He could have fought it.

            He could have broken free of the man’s grasp.

            But he didn’t.

            Instead, Danse watched his pregnant girlfriend kneel down and rip out MacCready’s beating heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I tried to stop her, but she was hell-bent on it.


	21. If I didn't Have You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reagan realizes what she's done, and she finally finds out what that 'third' thing Danse needed to tell her was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I Didn't Have You ~Monster's Inc.

**Reagan**

            There was a crack of thunder then bluish-purple lightning and mist flashed past Reagan. She didn’t look at it, instead, she watched the fresh blood drip down her wrist, staining her skin and sleeve. The heart gave another pump before stopping and released everything it had in a beautiful, thick flow.

            The screaming and voices behind her sounded far off, miles away. There was arguing, but she didn’t think about it, nothing passed the smell of the rusty crimson on her fingers made it into her thoughts. She knew how good the heart would taste and it called to her. Absently, she was aware that her lips were drawing back so that she could take a bite out of it.

            “Don’t.” The growl jerked her, causing her to blink, and Reagan looked up to meet silver eyes shaded by heavy golden brows. “This time you will listen to me, or you’ll regret it, Spadetail.”

            The threat brought everything down on her suddenly and Reagan’s golden gaze cooled to silver as it shifted to look at the muscle in her hand. Then she dropped it with a start and looked at the man on the ground. MacCready: the sniper from the Commonwealth that had been hired by Knight Nathan Briars. They’d infiltrated the Institute and brought back the holotape that said Danse was a synth. And MacCready had shot Michael. There was no doubt in Danse’s accusation; he knew that the sniper had done it. But now she looked at him and tried to recall everything he’d said.

            Why had he done it? She couldn’t remember what he said. Something about–?

            “Daddy!” the screech was high and unfamiliar to Reagan. She spun around and saw a small boy beating against Vilkas’ chest and trying to get a swing in on his face. The nord was quick, though. “Lemme go!” the boy screamed, his voice hysterical. Tears streamed down his face and sobs ripped at his little chest. Her own heart broke and she looked back at the man she’d just killed.

            Her anger melted and she realized she didn’t just avenge Michael, but she orphaned a boy who had nothing in this world now.

            “What’ve I done…?”

            Thorbjorn rested a hand on her shoulder and she focused on him. He grounded her with his stare and she took a deep breath. “He slayed your comrade,” he said carefully and she nodded. “Do you regret what you did?”

            “I don’t…” she whispered. She thought she was going to add ‘know’ to the end but it didn’t come out. No. She didn’t regret it. “Why did he…?”

            Sebastian came into her peripheral and she jerked to look at him. “He said he did it to save Duncan. He was sick and the Institute withheld his cure to keep MacCready doing as they wished.”

            “It’s a sick thing to do,” Wulfjar growled, his lips curling, “Using a child to wield the parent.”

            Reagan looked over at the boy and noticed the high elf standing beside Vilkas. His hand was resting on the boy’s head as he slept. Did he do that? He was just screaming a moment ago, she found it very unlikely he was be sleeping so suddenly. Magic then? He didn’t look like the magic sort, his body was covered in thick black plates and he had a full-faced helmet under his arm. Was that a… battleax on his back? And then Reagan wondered what the little blackish-purple gem in his free hand was.

            Before she could say anything, the woman in leather spoke, “Pardon my interruption, but what in Oblivion is going on?”

            Thorbjorn looked at her, “It doesn’t concern you, little bird.”

            The woman folded her arms. “I just witnessed a murder –one that makes no sense as the victim did not speak the common tongue, but seemed to understand her just fine,” she gestured to Reagan, whose nose twitched. “And when he was killed that one there took his soul,” now she pointed to the high elf and all eyes flicked to him. His golden skin flushed and he lifted the blackened gem. It looked as if something swirled around within it. “I am not fond of sending souls of the innocent to the Soul Cairn.”

            “What are you talking about?” Reagan snapped and looked at the high elf before returning her confused glare to the woman in leather.

            “That light,” she said, nodding to the body, “It was his soul leaving him, going into the soul gem, and trapping him in the Soul Cairn.”

            Reagan opened her mouth, but no words came out and she just nodded, looking over to Sebastian, hoping he could offer more. The paladin simply rolled his shoulders and shared her confused expression.

            Thorbjorn spoke again. “Why _did_ you take his soul?”

            The golden man was obviously used to being the center of attention and simply shrugged before saying, “She was going to kill him, that was obvious. We’ve been traveling with him and I thought he deserved more than…” he gestured around at the general situation. “I’ve been working with some spells that can… resurrect the dead, make them stick around and keep their minds rather than be the witless thralls that are normally raised. With a soul gem I can bring him back… in theory.”

            “In theory,” Thorbjorn’s silver gaze narrowed and he looked at the dark elf in leather. Reagan also looked at her and noted she was standing stiffly nearby but had otherwise detached herself from the conversation. It didn’t seem necromancy was a subject she enjoyed discussing.

            The high elf cleared his throat and then shifted the gem in his hand, “I would run more tests before attempting the spell. I would hate for something to happen to… him.”

            Sebastian’s nose wrinkled and then he looked down at the body. Reagan felt the beast inside her burn in her gums and chest. Hunger was coming to the surface, but she wouldn’t let it. “I need to get out of here,” she said and turned, running for the door.

            Once she was outside she trotted down the stairs to go to the market but realized how wrong of a decision that was. Thorbjorn’s house wasn’t this way, and she had blood staining her skin from fingertip to the off-white sleeve she had pushed to her elbow. A few people stared at her, glares and hints of suspicion touched them. No one said anything until a guard stepped away from the wall and grabbed her shoulder, spinning her off course to face him.

            “What’s that there on your arm?”

            Reagan cleared her throat, “Beast blood.” It was the first thing that came to mind but before either of them could say more another voice cut in.

            “She’s all right, Hamm,” Wulfjar grinned. “We just finished a hunt. I was teaching her how to clean a bear.”

            Hamm turned to look at his fellow guardsman and nodded. She couldn’t see his face and he looked like every other guard –save Wulfjar who was taller and thicker in the chest. “All right. Get her washed up, she’s scaring people.”

            “Aye,” Bud grinned and threw an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. They watched him walk away and Danse came up, concern clear on his face.

            “Where can we go?” he asked them both but she knew he was really asking Wulfjar.

            “Thorbjorn’s estate. He’ll be cleaning up the Dragonborn’s, aye?”

            “Yes, he, Rothruin, and that woman said they would handle it. Vilkas is bringing Duncan.” As if on cue, the nord appeared with the sleeping child against his chest. He looked to Reagan with pale blue eyes filled with knowing and concern.

            “How do you feel, Reagan?”

            She wasn’t sure. She wanted to say she was fine, or upset, but really, she was just, “Hungry.”

            He nodded, his face full of understanding. She snagged her lower lip with her teeth and took a deep breath. Wulfjar urged her forward. “Come on, we’ll get you back to the estate.”

 

 

            Vilkas sat the plate of sausage and bread down in front of her and Reagan glanced up with a grin, “You can cook?”

            His blue eyes caught the light when he smiled, “Nah. The housecarl made it.”

            He took the seat beside her with his own plate and they sat in comfortable silence while they ate. Mjolvanir told them she would return after a trip to the jarl’s keep, which left them alone as Danse was upstairs finishing a bath. It had been a long day, and they all needed the cleansing water’s attention. He offered to go last, and Reagan had gone first to get the blood off of her.

            While Vilkas bathed she and Sebastian sat together, him holding her, and they spoke quietly about everything that needed to be. She had acted rashly and now they suffered another setback. Argis was dead, killed by vampires. She was a werewolf because she’d been threatened by vampires. He had promised to help the high elf with the vampire threat once he found her.

            Their next move was obvious. They were going to wherever this Dawnguard was, and they were going to take the fight to the vampires.

            “Has Sebastian spoken to you about…?” Vilkas’ voice brought Reagan’s attention back to the food she had been chewing without thinking. Her silver eyes had been staring right passed the man sitting across from her.

            “Yeah,” she said, nodding. He had to be talking about his being Dragonborn. “It’s not something I ever thought….” He nodded, his blue eyes on her, listening to her words with intense interest. “I mean, it suits him though. I feel like he needs it. He never felt like he belonged, even in the Brotherhood, but here… he keeps finding new things that just… fit, you know?”

            The nord nodded, “And how do you feel about it? Of course, you’re still very important to him.”

            She grinned at him and rolled her shoulders. “If there’s one thing about Sebastian that I know, it’s he knows how to treat people equally, despite position and relationship. Back in the Brotherhood I didn’t get special treatment just because he and I were friends, knew each other since I was a squire. He laid into me when I fucked up just like he did Logan or Elizabeth.” The memory of Haylen getting her ass chewed for running into a minefield in the Capital Wasteland during her initiation flashed through her mind. Danse had been _pissed_. Of course, Rhys and she had laughed about it.

            “I do not wish you to feel I am coming between you two,” Vilkas stated and Reagan perked a brow.

            “I don’t worry about that. I’m sure he has room for the both of us. He doesn’t have Arthur anymore,” she frowned and then rubbed at her chest. The sting wasn’t as bad for her, but she could only imagine how he felt. Maxson hadn’t turned his back on her like he had Danse.

            “He has been like this before with another?”

            Reagan shifted in her seat. “Yeah, guys need guys sometimes. I can’t give him everything he needs, and we both know that.”

            The nord grinned some, looking relieved and her brows tugged together. Something felt off about this. “That is good to hear,” he stated and pushed his food around its plate. “As for you and I?”

            “What about us?” she turned her head to the side.

            “Will we be the same? Share in what Sebastian and I look to have?”

            “I don’t see why not?” she shrugged and the nord nodded, taking a satisfied bite out of the sausage he had. “I feel like you two will get more out of it, though.”

            The Companion looked at her confused and then shook his head, “Aye, no. I would do my best to be fair to you both.”

            Reagan wet her lips and opened her mouth to speak, but quick steps behind her caught her ear. “What’re you two talking about?” Danse’s voice rang out and she turned around.

            Vilkas leaned back in his chair, seeming relaxed and relieved, “We spoke and your fear has turned out to be needless. The lady Reagan would like to share in this.”

            The paladin’s brows shot up in surprise and he stopped at the bottom of the stairs, his towel still working on his hair. He had a pair of trousers on, tied up on his hips with his chest bare. She was it was a minor distraction as he’d obviously gained more muscle since she last saw him. Running around in the steel here seemed to have a different effect than power armor back in the Waste. “I… really?”

            Reagan blinked and rolled her shoulders in a shrug, “I mean, why not?”

            “I… didn’t think you would be… interest in that sort of relationship,” Sebastian came to stand beside her and then looked at the nord.

            There it was again. Reagan frowned and pursed her lips. “Okay, before I embarrass myself, what _exactly_ is it that I’m agreeing to?”

            The men looked at each other and then back to her. Vilkas leaned forward, “A relationship –with the Dragonborn and I.” Her brows jumped high and she looked up at Danse.

            Oh… he’d mentioned he had to tell her something about Vilkas. Were they…? “So, that thing you wanted to tell me was…” she gestured to the Companion, silver gaze locked on the paladin’s face.

            His face went red, spreading across his cheeks, “I was going to tell you. He kissed me….”

            Her mind blanked for a second, lips parting and features going slack in surprise before she looked over at Vilkas with narrowed eyes. “You kissed him?”

            The nord looked embarrassed by the sudden realization the whole conversation had been a misunderstanding. “Aye…”

            She could smell his fear, not for his life, but for whatever he thought was happening, the potential relationship they were going to have. Reagan wanted to be mad: someone had kissed her man, but… that someone was Vilkas who was looking to start some sort of polyamorous relationship. Her hand came up to cover her mouth and the thoughts started to roll over in her mind. Images of her and Sebastian being accompanied by Vilkas now, and she couldn’t find a reason to dislike what she saw. “So… you want this?” she looked up at the paladin who looked surprised at the question.

            “I don’t– I…” he pulled a chair out and sat down, blinking at the table. He was trying to center his thoughts, she knew, but she reached out and took his hand. His brown eyes lifted to meet her gaze. “I don’t want it because– Reagan, I don’t want you thinking you’re not enough for me.”

            She smiled and shook her head, “I understand, Sei.” Then she reached up and cupped his face, making him look right at her with a lifted chin. “If you want, we can try it. I’ve always been curious what it’d be like to have two guys anyway.” The smirk that split her lips made him smile back and look down. Vilkas had relaxed, his scent returning to the campfire smell he normally held.

            “And if it does not work,” the nord lifted his shoulder in a lopsided shrug, “No harm. We move on.”

            “No stress,” Reagan agreed and then straightened up. “But… how would this work?”

            Sebastian looked between them, “Just the three of us?”

            “Aye.”

            “And we treat each other equally, I imagine,” Reagan offered. “We have to tell each other if we feel jealous.” The men nodded and she smiled, leaning back in her seat. “Do you want a relationship or just sex out of this, Vilkas?”

            The nord looked between them and then nodded to Reagan, his hands coming up to lay palm up on the table. “A relationship –like what you two have. I want that, but I want that with you two.”

            He moved his hands, keeping one extended toward Reagan and the other toward Sebastian. They both took the offering and then they laced their own fingers. The Dragonborn took a deep breath and seemed to relax, his brown eyes coming to rest on her. “You want this?”

            “I think I do,” she nodded, then they both turned to the other man who offered a grin.

            “We can take it as slow as you two wish,” he started. “I do not want to overstep.”

            Reagan nodded and squeezed their hands. “I think this is going to be fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about this being shorter, but we're going to be getting into the Dawnguard questline soon, so I'm working out how I want to do that! It's probably going to run faster than you normally would in-game, with some things getting skipped/done by other characters. Plus Danse needs to talk to the Gray Beards, and in the end, we will get a 'threequel' or whatever xD Third part! so I'd say we're a little past the middle at this point. I'm thinking we're going to have around 30-35 chapters in this fic too, so keep your wits about you.


	22. Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I believe she told me she was from ‘Nun-ya Business,’ but I do not believe she was being serious,” the woman stated and Danse grinned despite himself. He didn’t need to see her face to know she was frowning at him now.
> 
> “That sounds like her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stories ~Beauty and the Beast II

**Danse**

            Vilkas and Reagan rode together on her mare. Danse watched them from his place on the back of his own horse. He decided to give them some time to figure things out between them. He thought it would hurt him or at least make him jealous to see the Companion lay his hands on his woman, but all he thought was how happy it made him to see her smile.

            Knight looked comfortable with him, relaxing into him as they rode for an exhausting time, allowing him to rub at the tension in her shoulders, and to rest his hands on her stomach despite it not showing the presence of their child. Vilkas didn’t rush anything either, didn’t kiss her or touch her anywhere that could be considered PDA, which probably helped the former paladin not feel the bite of jealousy.

            When they stopped to rest it was in Rorikstead which was the closest settlement to the grotto they were headed for. The woman in leather, named Vethisa, was on edge and seemed displeased with the amount of time it was taking them to get to this place, but she didn’t speak up. Danse noticed how Thorbjorn would check on her, and seemed well versed in her culture. It interested him, but he kept it to himself for now.

            They had left Oriella with Mjolvanir in Markarth. She seemed happy to be in a city and out of the cold, and even more so to not be the only one cleaning the home in which she stays. Thorbjorn had given her a permanent spot in his home for as long as she wished and put his housecarl in charge of her pay.

            It seemed they were all getting along well. Save for the orphaned child that refused to speak. Duncan wouldn’t look at anyone, but he seemed less tense around Thorbjorn, Vethisa, and Wulfjar. It made sense, seeing that he had put so much trust in Sebastian and he’d failed him, Reagan had killed his father, and Vilkas had held him back, keeping him from doing anything. Rothruin seemed to be the line. The toddler knew that he was involved with his father’s death, but not sure how, and it kept him from being comfortable with him. He rode with the Alpha, braiding the mane of the horse as they went. Ysmastaag he thought the stallion was called. Wulfjar’s horse wasn’t as calm but seemed to stride with more pride. Clevenger was his name.

            Reagan rode Hillavi, Vethisa had her own mare by the name of Coghlan, and Sebastian was still trying to decide a name for his young male. The breeder said he was a bit headstrong but would follow the command of a strong rider. He’d never ridden before, but as they went Wulfjar gave him tips and helped keep him on the road. It was harder than he thought it was going to be. The horse didn’t want to stick to the easy ride on the cobblestone, instead, he wanted to go off right into the thick grass.

            Now that they had stopped in Rorikstead and had the horses stabled for the night –and had paid a couple of stable boys to clean and feed them– they were able to relax in the inn. Reagan sat beside him, looping her arm through his so they hooked at the elbows. The others spread out, taking tables amongst themselves. Wulfjar and Rothruin sat together while Thorbjorn, Duncan, and Vethisa took a corner table, and Vilkas joined Sebastian and Reagan between the other two’s tables.

            “You’ll be wanting rest soon,” the Companion said, pushing a bowl of stew toward Reagan and then another toward Danse. One of the girls working the bar came over and placed three tankards in front of them, and a soup for Vilkas. He thanked her politely and then turned his blue gaze on the two of them. The girl seemed like she wanted to say something –probably recognizing the famous Companion– but just nodded and left.

            “I can stay up a bit longer,” Reagan picked up her tankard, getting it to her nose before she caught the scent. Then she sat it back down with a frown. Vilkas checked his cup and then Danse’s and switched hers for the Dragonborn’s. He realized the girl had given him the water meant for Reagan and her his mead. She grinned and drank before starting on her stew. “This is good.”

            Sebastian agreed once he tried some of his own. “Beef?”

            “Aye. This homestead knows how to make a good stew,” the Companion started on his own and they fell into a comfortable silence until Reagan shifted and pointed her spoon at them.

            “So, how’re we going to do this sleeping thing? Seems the beds are only big enough for two –barely,” she said and Vilkas grinned.

            “I’ll take my own room so you two can have the bed together.” This sounded right, but Danse felt something in him shift and he shook his head.

            “No, you two should spend the night, see how you like it. I want to stay up, anyway.”

            “All night?” Reagan frowned at him and he gave her a smile, brushing some of her hair from her face.

            “Not all night, but I’m not tired. Since Argis I haven’t slept well anyway.”

            “It’s true, lass, nightmares plague him,” Vilkas sighed and his concerned blue gaze landed on the Dragonborn. “If it please you, stay up for as long as you wish, and then come take my place at her side. I will stay awake until morning from then on. Sound like a plan, aye?”

            Reagan waved at the Companion, her silver gaze on Danse. “I like it, I get both of you tonight,” she smiled and rested a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder. He nodded and offered a grin.

            “Sounds good to me.”

           

 

            Thorbjorn and Vethisa were the only ones still awake. The Alpha was holding Duncan because the boy refused to depart from his side, while the leather-wearing woman was focused on sharpening her arrows. Danse took the seat beside the nord and looked at the boy he held.

            “I betrayed his trust.”

            “It’s a fairly easy thing to do, especially to a child who does not understand the world,” the nord sighed and adjusted his grip on the boy, offering him to Sebastian who took him. “He is a child, he will move on. Forgiveness may take him time, but if he understands why his father was killed… it may keep him from making the same mistakes.”

            “Or he’ll kill us all in our sleep,” the Dragonborn provided and the nord laughed quietly, nodding.

            “Aye, or he will kill us all.”

            “Care to explain why your woman orphaned him?” Vethisa asked, not looking up from her arrow. Danse glanced at her and frowned.

            “You already know. MacCready killed Reagan’s childhood friend, our fellow comrade, and… because of the Blood and –well, being pregnant– she…” he waved his hand, not wanting to finish the statement, especially with Duncan right there, asleep or not.

            “Comrade? Was he a Companion? Vilkas doesn’t seem torn up over it,” she turned the arrow over to inspect the point and then looked at him, crossing her legs and arms as she leaned her back against the table.

            “No, he was a… lancer-sergeant with the Brotherhood of Steel.”

            “Never heard of it,” she narrowed her eyes. It was a movement that he could barely see because of the hood and facial covering.

            Thorbjorn seemed interested as well, but Danse wasn’t sure about sharing with these two the fact he and Knight were from another world entirely. “Reagan’s not told you where we’re from?” he looked at the Alpha.

            The nord frowned his lips and brows, “She has been… obscure.”

            “I believe she told me she was from ‘Nun-ya Business,’ but I do not believe she was being serious,” the woman stated and Danse grinned despite himself. He didn’t need to see her face to know she was frowning at him now.

            “That sounds like her.”

            “Aye,” Thorbjorn nodded. “But where is it that you come from? She wrote to you in a tongue I did not recognize –and there are few of those. You speak the common tongue better than most who grow in these lands –but how you use it is sometimes…. Not to mention the way you carry yourselves and the weapons you favor.”

            Sebastian rubbed at the back of his neck and then sighed. “Honestly? Another world. Skaddi was sent there by a daedra, I think? MacCready said she was being punished, he thought. For not worshiping them correctly? Sanguine seemed to be the only one that was pleased with her.”

            The woman scoffed and turned around on the bench seat to face them. “She could not even please the daedra she wished to be the champions of? It seems she sought too much and ended up with none of it.”

            The Dragonborn’s brows drew together, but he continued. “Sheogorath gave her a transportation crystal and she gave it to Reagan and me to come back here. Along with her housecarl Argis.”

            “I knew him,” Thorbjorn stated. “A good man. He left with the Dragonborn when she departed from Markarth.”

            “He was killed a short time ago in Winterhold by vampires.” The Alpha frowned and finished his tankard.

            “So the Dragonborn gave you her way home?” Vethisa asked and Danse nodded. “Why?”

            He frowned and decided he wasn’t going to give her all of the details. She didn’t know Skaddi like he did and she would taint everything he said. “Because my life was in danger, and it was a sure-fire way to save me.”

            The woman shook her head, “Throwing you into an unfamiliar world was saving you?”

            “I am alive, am I not?” he tilted his head at her and then felt a small edge of irritation settle in his chest. “And I would not have become Dragonborn if I hadn’t come here.”

            “We don’t need another Dragonborn,” Vethisa said and stood up from the table, grabbing her things. “We need someone who gets shit done –for the people, not themself.”

            He watched her leave and looked to Thorbjorn when her door closed. The nord was frowning in the woman’s direction but now came back to the table. “I did not know the Dragonborn but by reputation. She was well liked by many, but just as numerous were those that sought her demise. In a year she became so much, but there is a sort of weakness to fast power.” He sighed and stood up as well, taking Duncan from Sebastian’s arms. “When you rush ahead of the army and call yourself its leader, it does not mean those behind you are following you. They may be after you just the same.”

            With that, the nord left him to think on that and Sebastian nodded silently. He wasn’t sure what Skaddi had done in her time here, but he was going to do his best to be better.

 

 

            _“Ah, well met again, hunters.”_

            Reagan and Vethisa stood before the pale stag. It looked ghostly, a sort of mist or essence coming off of it while its body was easily seen right through. It had massive antlers and spoke with a voice that sounded otherworldly with the reverberation that rang with it.

            _“My favor, for the both of you.”_ The stag bowed his head to touch the hide of the werewolf that they had skinned. Thorbjorn explained that the man was lost without an Alpha, on the brink of going completely feral, but the man did not wish to join their pack. That with Hircine’s demand meant that the wolf had to die. The hardest part had actually been the other hunters. Danse had never seen people that looked so… strange. The elves were one thing, but orcs, khajiit, and argonians were another story. Beast races, the nords called them. It was right but didn’t comfort him.

            The hide was armor now, made of leather and fur, Vethisa knelt to pick it up. It appeared too big for her, but she politely nodded to the stag and stepped back. Reagan held up her hand to the deer and he tipped his head to touch a prong to her palm where the ring they’d taken from the wolf rested. When he pulled back the aspect of Hircine spoke again.

            _“This ring will sate your beast’s hunger. But for as long as you wear it you will not be able to turn. Remove it to shift –but with that returns the hunger.”_ She looked as if she were going to protest, but the stag lifted his head, _“There is no power without the hunger.”_

            “Thank you,” she breathed and stepped back. Hircine looked to Thorbjorn then and nodded his head in a greeting. This seemed to surprise the Alpha who quickly bowed his head out of respect.

            The stag shook his head and departed with, _“Go forth, with my blessings.”_

            When he was gone Vethisa turned to Reagan and offered the hide. “I won’t be wearing it. I think he knew as much: it appears to be more your fitting.”

            Knight put the ring on her right ring finger and then took the armor. “Thank you.”

            The elf nodded and sighed. “Well, my job is finished. I must return to Falkreath and let the girl’s parents know that justice has been served.”

            Thorbjorn stepped forward, his silver gaze lingering on the elf before he looked toward the rising sun in the distance. “Then what will you do?”

            She seemed surprised by his interest as she’d started to leave, but stopped to look at him. “I will return to Riften afterward.”

            The Alpha nodded, “It seems our path will take us to Fort Dawnguard. Perhaps we will meet again.”

            “If you find yourself in Riften, come by Riftweald Manor.” She sounded as if she was smiling. The nord looked back at her and nodded once, his lips curved upward just slightly. “And if Brynjolf approaches you in the market, tell him you’re visiting me –it’ll keep the Guild off of you.”

            His grin turned into a smirk. “I shall.”

            The woman disappeared into the morning shadows, “I look forward to it.”

            Thorbjorn watched the space she had vanished and then turned back around to notice the group staring. Wulfjar was the first to speak, “Got a thing for the little ash skins, eh?”

            The Alpha’s jaw set and he narrowed his silver eyes at the other male before circling his arm in a way to tell them it was time to pack up and leave. “Come on then, we should be off for Riften and then Fort Dawnguard. It will take the rest of the day.”

            Reagan came to Danse’s side and showed him the armor with a grin. “Think I’ll look sexy in it?” she asked and held it up in front of her. He chuckled.

            “You are always,” he said softly so no one else could hear –well, the wolves probably could.

            She pushed his chest lightly and then frowned, her hand still on his pec. “I hurt you,” she whispered. He frowned, confused and touched the point she had hit him to push him away when he tried to stop her from killing MacCready.

            “You didn’t mean to,” he said and she shook her head.

            “Did it bruise?” her brows rose at the center.

            “No, no Reagan, I’m fine, I swear.” He held her face so she looked him in the eyes. It was strange to see the silver now. Before her eyes were like honey, liquid until she was pissed, then they’d harden to rocks. This silver was like a reflective plate sitting in place of her iris, catching light like metal rather than the soft working of the eye. Now red threatened the edges of the whites of her eyes and for a brief moment, he realized just how white they were. In the Waste, they had a yellow tinge he never noticed, but here they were pure. The red was from the salty water that now edged at her lower eyelids, threatening to spill over. He leaned forward and kissed her lips, it was the first thing he could think to do. Then he moved to press one more into each of her squeezed-shut eyes. He could taste the salty water, but she just nodded and wrapped her arms around him, trying to hold onto the armor as she did so.

            “I don’t want to ever hurt you.”

            He didn’t know what to say to that. It would be a lie to say she couldn’t, and to say she wouldn’t was irresponsible. “I know,” he settled on and kissed her crown, nuzzling into the blonde hair there. She let out a shaky breath and lifted her head.

            “Is everyone staring at us?” His brown eyes lifted to check. They were doing a good job of paying extra attention to the horses as they prepared to leave, even Rothruin seemed to take extra time to cast the spell he used and then checked the integrity of the summoned animal, unlike every other time.

            “No,” he smiled down at her and she sighed, nodding.

            “Good. I’d have punched someone.”

            He kissed her forehead and then walked with her to her horse. Vilkas had readied Hillavi, then took the armor from her, packing it into a saddlebag before helping Reagan get settled into the saddle. “It’s going to be a long ride,” he warned, a hand on her thigh. She looked down at him with a nod. “I’ll have to walk her a ways. Don’t need her keeling over before we reach the Rift.”

            Danse grabbed his horse’s reins and pulled him up close. “I’ll walk with you.”

            “Thanks, brother,” Vilkas laid a strong hand on Danse’s shoulder and the Dragonborn smiled at him.

            Thorbjorn trotted over and looked at them, “I’ll ride ahead with Wulfjar to make sure there are no bandits. You know the way?”

            “Aye,” Vilkas nodded and the Alpha glanced at Reagan.

            “I’ll be sure to leave some for you.” Then he urged his horse off and the two males headed down the cobblestone leaving Rothruin with Duncan and the three of them moving along at a comfortable pace for the horses.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not TOO much happening, but I think the next chapter's going to have some smut and some plot xD so there's that to look forward to! Can someone spot the other ship being built?


	23. Welcome to the Forty Thieves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to join the Dawnguard!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the Forty Thieves ~Aladdin & the King of Thieves

**Reagan**

            Riften was a quick stop and all she got to see was the outside since Sebastian and Rex agreed that they all didn’t need to go in. She stayed with Vilkas, Rothruin, Wulfjar, and Duncan. The boy refused to look at her –not that she blamed him, but it made her sad nonetheless. She should have had better control of herself, but it was a blur she was still recovering bits of memory from. Every time she thought about it, her chest burned and she could only think about that ginger Lancer-Sergeant’s smirking, freckled face and bright green eyes. He had been twenty-five years old, the highest ranked Brother his age; prematurely graying from the stress he wouldn’t share with anyone but her after a few drinks; crows feet scratched at the corner of his emerald gaze even while his face relaxed; but it all came down to the big heart in his chest that had made him a friend to very nearly every single soldier in the Brotherhood of Steel. She wouldn’t get to see his funeral. She wouldn’t get to see him again, she didn’t even have a picture of him.

            Briefly her thoughts drifted to Lancer-Captain Victor Glass. Would he come to the Commonwealth to his bastard son’s service? Would Jacob come to see his half brother’s body? Neither remaining Glass had come with to the Commonwealth with the Prydwen, but had been planned to transport supplies between it and the Capital. Would Victor be upset? She couldn’t remember seeing the Lancer-Captain with anything other than disdain or a condescending smirk on his face. Even when he was being ‘unreadable’, he would just look at you in a way that made you feel small. The blue eyes he shared with Jacob were cobalt and fathomless, somehow looking solid and unimaginably deep at the same time. Victor Glass had frightened her more than the monsters in stories she was told as a child. Imagining him with anything other than a disappointed frown at Michael’s funeral –if he even went– was very difficult.

            And now there was MacCready. A life of a mercenary along with the happiness –and probably mental stability– of his child to pay for the life of her best friend and one of the Brotherhood’s most trusted and respected pilots. In the moment it had seemed almost fair. In the moment it had seemed weighed in the favor of the mercenary. She could almost recall thinking that including the boy’s life may make the scales fall evenly, but she _settled_ for less because she refused, even as a beast, to murder a child.

            Murder.

            Even then she had known what she was doing.

            Deep. Deep. Deep, deep, deep down where Reagan had sat on the subconscious ground and watched as the beast did as it wished, she had known she shouldn’t.

            Sebastian’s words reached her there. ‘Think about this,’ he’d said. She had been thinking about it, but it boiled down to one image. The same picture that floated in front of her vision now as she looked at the boy sitting on the ground with his back to her.

            Michael’s bright green eyes, sparkling in the morning light as he stood on the deck beside the Primair, orange hair rustled by the wind, lips twisted into the Glass patented smirk, but centered on his forehead was a hole, one she could see right through. The hole came from a ballistic firearm, a sniper rifle. It didn’t break his handsome face, but the wound tainted it, sending crimson dripping down in thin rivers to his brows and down his nasal bridge, to his lips and dripped from his chin onto his officer’s uniform to stain it. That frozen image stung her eyes as if she’d just been splashed with irradiated water.

            Nothing was going to bring him back now. Leaving him alive in the Commonwealth only to learn someone that had traveled in the company of hers had killed him? In protection of what belonged to him. Would she have done it differently? What if the Institute had taken the baby in her belly from her and strung it up to make her dance? Would she kill someone she knew could have helped her out if it meant risking that baby’s life?

            What good was the effort to save the life, if it meant that life was lost in the end anyway?

            Reagan sniffed and only then realized she was crying. Her hand came up and wiped away the salty tears and she took a shaky breath, looking at the boy she’d orphaned.

            Duncan was sitting on the ground, his back to them at Bud’s feet. The nord kept kneeling down to offer the boy something to eat –apparently, he hadn’t eaten a thing since everything happened. Guilt knotted in Reagan’s stomach and she frowned rubbing at her face as she tried to keep any more tears at bay.

            Warm hands held her shoulders and Reagan glanced up to meet pale blues eyes. Vilkas rubbed his thumbs against the muscle that reached for her neck and she nearly moaned at how good it felt. “What is it, lass?” One of those thumbs came up to wipe the trail of tears her eyes made. Reflexively, she tilted her face into his palm and tried to take in a deep breath, but it shook with the sob that threatened to rip her chest open.

            “I’m just –emotional,” she touched her stomach and he nodded stepping a little closer. He stopped with a respectable distance between them and Reagan closed the distance, resting her face on his plated shoulder. He smelled like a campfire, maple and oak wood if she was placing it right. It was a comforting scent, something different from Sebastian, but not unpleasant. She liked it, and liked that they were different and both still pleasing to her. “I’m not used to being so sensitive.”

            “’Tis the child you carry,” he said softly and chuckled, making her head on his shoulder sway. “Motherhood is a change of its own. Do not let it upset you.” The hand that wiped away the tears was now stroking her hair. She liked how his rough fingers felt going over and through the thick blonde locks. She considered cutting it short, to get the lingering brown out, but as he ran his fingers down it, she decided she liked the feeling too much to crop it.

            She sniffed and sighed, deciding she wanted a change in subject. “Why did Skaddi cure you of the Blood?” Reagan could smell his heart, hear it beat, but the hunger that usually accompanied it was nonexistent. It comforted her.

            “I could not control it. The beast ruled my thoughts and dreams. During the high moons, I would suffer the greatest.” He exhaled slowly, as if the memory was painful, and pulled back to look at her face. With the extensive traveling they’d been doing, he hadn’t been able to paint on the darkness around his eyes, leaving them clean. He almost looked older this way, closer to Danse’s age than she’d expected. He had creases from frowning and smiling, but he didn’t look like an aged man passed his prime. Thick black hair was coming in along his jaw, growing to mirror whatever was happening to Sebastian’s face, and the hair on his crown had gotten long enough to sweep his shoulders as he tilted and turned his head. Reagan reached up and brushed one of the soft locks out of the way and looked into those pale blue eyes. They were like sheets of ice, barely a hint of blue to them.

            “I haven’t had that much trouble…”

            “You have a good Alpha,” Vilkas smiled at her and she looked at it. His teeth were much like hers, clean and strong and white despite the poor hygiene in Skyrim. They weren’t quite as new as hers, but they looked better than Rothruin’s –which was sawing something because it seemed he may actually take care of his. “Kodlak had a weaker beast, grown old and tired. He denied the beast power and taught my brother and I the way.”

            “That is no way to train a beast –especially a young one,” Thorbjorn’s voice broke in and Reagan stiffened away from the Companion when she saw Danse beside him, both carrying heavy looking sacks. It wasn’t until Vilkas’ warmth left her did she realize she didn’t have to pull away from him like she was doing something wrong. And the questioning look on Sebastian’s face told her he was thinking the same.

            The dark haired nord played it off, hopefully understanding why she did it, and addressed the Alpha. “Kodlak was a good leader.”

            “Aye, he may have been, but he did not help you. The Blood can be controlled with ease for those who have the will,” he stepped up to Vilkas, looking him over carefully with narrowed silver eyes. “You have the will. You wore the beast well –I can see it. And you miss it,” he added, moving back from him to go to the horses and loaded the sacks onto their saddles.

            “I don’t suppose you would offer me a place in your pack?” the Companion asked, lifting his chin. The blonde nord turned to him and then looked over at Wulfjar who had stopped his conversation with Rothruin to pay attention to them. Reagan grinned a little.

            “I think that’s an outstanding idea.”

            Vilkas smiled at her but Thorbjorn folded his arms and stood straighter in front of the Companion. “You gave up the Blood before, Skaddi cured you, aye?”

            “Aye.”

            “It would not be so simple to cure yourself if you chose my pack. The Companions were cursed, my origins are unknown to me. You cannot take this back.”

            Vilkas nodded and the tension in the group thickened. Reagan didn’t realize Sebastian had come to stand at her side, watching with a stoic expression. “If you can do for me what Kodlak could not, then I have nothing to worry about.”

            Thorbjorn watched him for a moment longer and then nodded. “Tonight, then. To keep from the prying eyes of the Rift.” Vilkas nodded and then Rex circled his arm in the air to signal them to pack up. “Let’s move out, we still have a few hours of daylight.”

            When Vilkas had settled in behind Reagan on Hillavi, they got moving, but she turned to look at him with a smile. “So, you’re going to retake the Blood, hmm?”

            He settled his hands on her hips and chuckled softly behind her ear. “You seem to like the idea, aye?”

            “I think it would make things interesting… I wonder if Sebastian will do it, too?” she shot a glance to the Dragonborn who was trying to keep his horse on the path. “You should name him Brutus,” she called and he looked up with raised brows.

            “Yeah?”

            “He looks like a Brutus, acts like a brute, and if he runs off when you do that shouting thing, you get to say, ‘Et tu, Brute?’” she grinned and the paladin laughed, smiling as he shook his head.

            “I don’t think I’m going to Shout if I can help it.”

            “Awe,” she frowned and then elbowed the Companion behind her. “Tell him how cool it was when Skaddi did it, Vilkas.”

            He chuckled, “It was impressive, but it got her more than one chiding from the guards when she did it in public.”

            Reagan huffed, “That’s no fun.”

            Vilkas nuzzled into her hair and whispered, “Perhaps not, but other things will be. I look forward to our first time together.”

            That put a heat in the pit of her stomach and she looked over to Sebastian to see if he had heard. When the Companion noticed he chuckled.

            “Our first time –the three of us.”

 

 

            “Why are you here, Tolan? The Vigilants and I were finished with each other a long time ago.” The voice was low, deep, and not at all amused. Fort Dawnguard was a massive thing that put even Whiterun’s Dragonreach to shame. That was until you got inside and realized the place looked like it had been abandoned and forgotten for the better part of a century.

            “Who lives here, people or arachnids?” Reagan whispered to Danse and he seemed to fight a smile.

            The man dressed in robes, Tolan, spoke, “You know why I’m here. The Vigilants are under attack everywhere. The vampires are much more dangerous than we believed.” Comparing the two, the man with the deep, dark voice seemed far more prepared to fight vampires, while Tolan was dressed in a robe with plate protecting his hands and feet. His priorities seemed to be a little off, at least in Reagan’s opinion.

            Honestly, the other man reminded her of Lancer-Captain Kells. He had the same skin tone and furrow to his brow, but this man’s eyes were bright with something she couldn’t quite read yet. “And now you want to come running to safety with the Dawnguard, is that it?” There was a bite to the statement and Reagan couldn’t help but smile. It reminded her of those in the Waste that would go running to the Brotherhood for a handout. They would say they wanted to help –sometimes not even that– but rarely they would actually join. They just wanted a meal and some power armored protection. “I remember Keeper Carcette telling me repeatedly that Fort Dawnguard is a crumbling ruin not worth the expense and manpower to repair. And now that you’ve stirred up the vampires against you, you come begging for my protection.”

            Oh, now, that was a story she could sympathize with.

            “Isran,” Tolan stepped forward, looking as if he were going to beg at this point, “Carcette is dead. The Hall of the Vigilants… everyone… they’re all dead. You were right, we were wrong. Isn’t that enough for you?”

            Thorbjorn stiffened at her side when the man mentioned the Hall of the Vigilants. His blonde brows drew heavily over his silver eyes. Isran was speaking though, his face _almost_ looking regretful. _Almost_. “Yes, well… I never wanted any of this to happen. I tried to warn all of you…. I am sorry, you know.” It seemed then that he realized the group in the doorway wasn’t going to just leave, and Isran turned his pale gaze onto them. “So who are you? What do you want?”

            Rothruin took the floor, stepping around them to put himself in front of the others. “You’re looking for vampire hunters. Each of us has faced them –and half lost someone to them.” That was true, it seemed that only Duncan, Wulfjar, and Thorbjorn hadn’t actually lost someone to a vampire attack recently. Sebastian had mentioned to her briefly that Rothruin’s fiancé had been killed in the same attack that killed Argis.

            “I’m glad word’s finally starting to get around. But that means it won’t be long before the vampires start to take notice as well,” Isran looked over each of them and seemed pleased that none of them looked quite as pathetic as the begging Vigilant. Then he frowned at Duncan who was gazing around with wide eyes. “I need men out in the field, taking the fight to the damned vampires, while we’re getting the fort back into shape. It seems not all of you will be up to that particular task.”

            Thorbjorn adjusted Duncan in his arms. “He is an orphan, but we care for him. You won’t be expected to pay him any other treatment than you give us.”

            Isran then looked at Vilkas, his eyes narrowing at the wolf armor he wore. “A Companion, eh? Ready for a greater purpose?”

            The dark-haired nord smirked and shook his head, “There is no greater purpose than that which I already serve, but this outfit suits me just fine.”

            Isran bowed his head in a confirming nod and turned to the rest of them. “Tolan was telling me about some cave that the Vigilants were poking around in. Seemed to think it was related to these recent vampire arracks.” He turned to the balding man in the robes, “Tolan, tell them about, what was it, Dimhollow?”

            The man’s voice was lower now and slow, “Yes, that’s it. Dimhollow Crypt. Brother Adalvald was sure it held some long-lost vampire artifact of some kind.” His heavy nord accent contrasted with the smoother way that Isran spoke, and Reagan wondered where he came from. “We didn’t listen to him any more than we did Isran. He was at the Hall when it was attacked….”

            Isran nodded and turned back to them. “That’s good enough for me. We’ll get settled in and send a party to go see what the vampires were looking for in the Dimhollow Crypt. With any luck, they’ll still be there.” Then the man turned and started into the castle, “This way, I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping –if you stick around.”

            “We lost friends to these parasites,” Rothruin spat. “I will not be returning to the College until they’re stopped.”

            Reagan nodded, “Our lives have been nothing but one big inconvenience after another because of them.”

            Isran led them through the dark halls lit only by sparse torches. “As we grow, we will warrant more resistance from the vampires, but this Fort will serve as our base and the location couldn’t be better. The only way to reach it is to scale the mountains or to come in from the caves. The cliffs are lethal drops, even for vampires, and the caves have constant guards,” he paused when they reached a barracks-style room where single beds were set up around the space with chests acting as footlockers at the ends.

            “Ah, just like the Prydwen,” Reagan elbowed Sebastian who smiled and chuckled.

            “Maybe for you, I had my own room.”

            “Mmm, that’s right,” she narrowed her eyes playfully and then walked over to the bed in the farthest corner. It had two near it and she dropped her knapsack down onto it before turning back to Vilkas and Sebastian with expectant brows lifted. The boys followed her over and each took the closer beds to her. The others sprinkled themselves around, but Reagan watched as Duncan climbed onto Thorbjorn’s bed. The nord gave him a smile and rustled the chocolate hair sticking up awkwardly from the familiar contact. He needed it cut, but she didn’t think he would let her anywhere near him with scissors to do so.

            “Decide amongst you who will come, and I’ll prepare some supplies for you to take,” Isran turned away from them curtly and dismissively, reminding her of Arthur as much as Kells.

            “I like him,” she stated and looked up as the Dragonborn came over to her.

            “He seems trusting,” he commented and rested his knuckles on her freckled cheek. Vilkas straightened up, rolling his stiff shoulders.

            “Desperate men do stupid things. ‘Tis a good thing we don’t mean him harm, aye?”

            “Did you see the hammer he had?” Wulfjar chuckled. “Get your sword out and he’ll break the damned thing, Companion.”

            Vilkas wrinkled his nose, “Tsk, I’d see him try. Skyforged steel has no match.”

            The young wolf grinned wider and pulled off his sword and shield. Rothruin was lying carefully on the bed he’d claimed, still dressed in his heavy black armor, but he turned his head and lifted a brow at the nord, “On to the task at hand. Isran said we should decide amongst us who will go.”

            Thorbjorn straightened then and looked at each of them. “We cannot all go, the boy needs to be watched.”

            “He only likes you,” Wulfjar said. “I can’t get him to eat, but you can.”

            The Alpha sighed and nodded. “Aye, I shall remain here. Reagan, you will as well.” She was going to protest, but then Thor lifted a hand, a stern expression in place, “We do not know the state of this cave and I will not risk more lives than can defend themselves.” With that, her hand reflexively touched her stomach and the knight relented.

            “Fine. I’ll stay here, but I’m not going to act like some little housewife, cleaning and what not.”

            “That’s fine,” the alpha looked them over and then nodded to Rothruin. “How goes the experiments with the dead?”

            “I was looking to practice on this mission,” the high elf replied.

            “Then the four of you, Sebastian, Vilkas, Wulfjar, and Rothruin will go to Dimhollow.”

            Reagan frowned at that but hid it when the guys looked at her. They all agreed it was the best course of action, and she watched as they unloaded and then repacked supplies more appropriately for a short mission. Already she could feel the want for adventure gnawing at her spine, but it was easy to stifle after having dealt with the beast.

            “Gonna miss me?” she asked Sei as he tossed the bag over his shoulder. He chuckled and knelt in front of her, propping Good Death on the ground against her bed. She hadn’t even thought to ask for it from him, though she’d seen him carrying it with Righteous Authority. She hadn’t felt like she needed the gun anymore. Now that it was returned to her, though, her fingers itched to pull the trigger.

            “Of course I’ll miss you,” he said, cupping her face. “I said I wouldn’t leave you…”

            “This isn’t leaving,” she smirked at him and grabbed his wrists to give him a confirming squeeze. “You’re going on a mission, and you’ll be back before I know it.”

            “You know I can’t promise that.”

            “I know what I know, and what I said stands,” she said and the paladin shook his head, a wide smile in place.

            “You are my world, Reagan.”

            “I love you, Sei,” she whispered and leaned forward to kiss her man. They hadn’t gotten much time to be so close, and now that they’d be sleeping in a barracks, they wouldn’t get the privacy they’d taken for granted on the Prydwen and even in Breezehome. No, now they were going to have to sneak around to get anything done, how she had with Rhys and some others before Danse and she got together. Good thing she knew what to look for when it came to those sorts of spots. “When you get back, we’ll do a little something-something, yeah?” she perked a brow at him, wiggling it so he got the idea and he chuckled, as if he couldn’t believe her, but should have expected as much.

            “Yes, I’d like that.”

            When he stood, Reagan bent down and grabbed a small stone that had probably come from the walls at some point, and tossed it lightly so it bounced harmlessly off of Vilkas’ wolf armor. He turned and lifted confused brows at the contact. “Aye?”

            “I want a kiss bye,” she stated and he immediately looked to Sebastian who waved for him to go ahead. The Companion came forward and knelt in front of her.

            “I won’t be gone long,” he said and looked honest. She smiled and then turned her cheek to him and tapped it with a mockingly impatient finger. The dark-haired nord smirked and leaned forward, pressing his scruffy face to her soft one so that his lip placed a hot, needy kiss into the mess of freckles there. Reagan couldn’t help but smile widely at the contact and when he pulled away, she brushed his hair from his face.

            “Get a little more when you come back, you hear?” she pursed her lips at him in a teasing way and he locked his icy gaze on them.

            “That so?” The Companion leaned forward then, and she was giggling before she could stop herself or him –not that she wanted him to stop.

            Vilkas’ hand held the back of her head gently, keeping her in place as he rested his lips on hers, softly, and affectionately. It was blistering, backed with want they both couldn’t satisfy yet, but damn did she feel his need –smell it– just as much as she did her own. It only lasted a moment, but when he pulled away, her breath was nowhere to be found.

            Panting lightly, Reagan chuckled and shook her head, looking down at the ground with burning cheeks. “Aye, you’ll get a little more when you come back,” she repeated and the Companion stood, resting an elbow on Danse’s shoulder as they both looked down at her. Finally, she lifted her silver gaze to them and shook her head, “You two aren’t fair.”

            “Never claimed to be, love,” Vilkas smirked at her and Sebastian shared in the triumphant grin.

            “You’re primarily at fault for this, Reagan,” he reminded her and she nodded, hands running through her hair.

            “Well, go on, hurry off so you’ll hurry back to me.”

            With that, they were off, lingering looks and smiles shared between her and the two of them. She liked how Vilkas nudged and grabbed Sebastian by the shoulder, and the Dragonborn seemed to like it as well, growing more comfortable with each touch from the other man. By the time they got back, she was sure they’d be ready for their… _first time_.


	24. The Little Vampire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is the power that I offer!” he roared. His hands splayed wide with a pair of leathery wings behind him. His clawed feet tapped on the stone floor as he shifted his weight and displayed his thick chest. The cape he had been wearing along with the armored skirt he had were the only remaining pieces of clothing and dripped with blood.
> 
> Harkon’s face looked nothing like it had before, but shared the eyes. Glowing orbs that bore into Danse, daring him to refuse.
> 
> “Now, make your choice!

**Danse**

“Damned bloodsuckers,” Vilkas growled, nose wrinkling as he pulled his sword from the heavy body of one of the vampires. Danse kicked his boot through the ash pile of his own kill and knelt to grab a singed leather purse. A few gold fell out of it so he added it to what he had. Wulfjar and Rothruin waited ahead by the narrow doorway that looked to lead deeper into the cave.

            “The Vigilant did not last long,” the blonde nord tossed his head in the direction of the body.

            The group took a moment to look at the body, Vilkas checked his possessions after closing his eyes. Then they moved on. Sebastian kept to the middle of the group, Righteous Authority pointed at the ground while he was so close to the others. Rothruin was behind him with hands glowing, one orange and the other white, he’d been throwing spells, seeming to favor distance now, his battleaxe resting on his back. Wulfjar took point with Vilkas on his flank. Shield lifted, the guard would be the first to take a blow if they were attacked from the front.

            The narrow hallway gave to a massive underground structure that looked like a cave converted into a ceremonial chamber. At least, that’s what it looked like to Sebastian. The others looked just as bewildered to find the high ceilings and rushing water.

            “Are you sure that was wise, Lokil? He still might have told us something.”

            The voice came from below, the four men dropped to kneel behind a stone guardrail. The lighting was so poor no one would be able to see them hunkered down, but when Sebastian peeked over the rail he could see two figures standing over a limp body lit by a large brazier.

            “…We haven’t gotten anywhere ourselves with–”

            “He knew nothing. He served his purpose by leading us to this place. Now it is up to us to bring Lord Harkon the prize,” a male’s voice, deeper than the first, spoke up. “And we will not return without it. Vingalmo and Orthjolf will make way for me after this.” There was a smugness to the tone that did a fine job of telling Sebastian he was –at least in this man’s eyes– mistreated by the others.

            The lackey following him had a smile in his voice, “Yes, of course, Lokil. Do not forget who brought you news of the Vigilants’ discovery…”

            “I never forget who my friends are. Or my enemies.”

            The two figures crossed a bridge to the ceremonial area. Vilkas turned to the Dragonborn and perked a brow, “What do you want us to do?”

            “We can’t let them get what they’re after,” he frowned and stood up, slowly, in case someone could see them.

            As quietly as possible, they followed the vampires, their path taking them down several flights of worn stairs. The Dragonborn took point, stopping in beside the body in the glow of the brazier. He didn’t have much on him, but he left him as he was.

            A cry echoed through the cave and the group stiffened, freezing in place.

            “Sebastian.”

            Rothruin’s whisper was barely a breath. When he had the group’s attention, he pointed. One of the vampires in the middle of the room pushed around a series of braziers illuminated by lines of purple flames. The other stood in the middle, nursing his hand as if it were broken. Vilkas elbowed Danse and nodded his head with a brow perked.

            “Now,” he confirmed and the others rushed the vampires. The Dragonborn stood and aimed, his laser rifle catching the master as he pushed the final brazier.

            A screech from the other told him Wulfjar got him.

            The ground quaked, but the men were able to keep on their feet. Danse joined them, striding up carefully with his weapon pointing into the shadows in case another vampire showed itself. The room was sinking, in a stair-like fashion, the center falling the lowest. Rothruin and Wulfjar had backed up to a sturdy level, but Vilkas remained in place, keeping his balance carefully, his greatsword held to even his weight.

            When it stopped, the platform at the bottom of the stairs exposed a stone monolith. Vilkas touched it, pale blue eyes narrowed. “It looks ancient.”

            Rothruin reached the structure before the Dragonborn. He circled it twice and then stopped at a side that looked no different than the others, at least to Sebastian. “What the vampires were looking for is inside of this,” he touched the smooth stone as he spoke.

            They all jerked in surprise when the stone slid down and exposed a woman with a rush of stale air. Her head was cocked backward and her arms crossed as if she were lying in a coffin, though she was upright. The wall they removed had not supported her, but now that it was open she fell forward. Her knees bent, cracking as the joints moved, and her hands barely caught her before she bit the rock.

            They gave her some room. “Unh… where is…” she stood up and then stiffened, glowing red eyes flicking between the men before her. “Who sent you here?”

            “Who were you expecting?” Danse asked, pointing his weapon at her. She zeroed her gaze in on him until Rothruin came forward, hands raised to show he wasn’t armed.

            “I was expecting someone… like me, at least,” she answered.

            “A vampire,” Rothruin offered and she nodded, crossing her arms. “Why were you locked away like this?”

            It was a good question, one that all of them apparently wanted the answer to because she now had every ounce of their focus. Where before Wulfjar and Vilkas had been searching the shadows for someone to appear, now they kept their eyes locked on her, waiting for the answer.

            “That’s… complicated, and I’m not totally sure if I can trust you,” she answered, looking at each of them in turn. “But if you want to know the whole story, help me get back to my family’s home.”

            “Where do you need to go?” Sebastian offered.

            “My family used to live on an island to the west of Solitude. I would guess they still do.” One of her arms unfolded and she gestured to herself with a relaxed wrist, “By the way… my name is Serana. Good to meet you.” The last part was pointed to Rothruin who was the only one yet not to regard her suspiciously or with barely contained hostility. Vilkas’ nose was wrinkled and his brow heavy as he watched her. He wasn’t the least bit interested in her thoughts about him.

            “I am Rothruin, Archmage of the College of Winterhold,” the high elf bowed his head. Serana took half a step back from him, whether because she feared him or his position, or simply to give the tall man space, The Dragonborn couldn’t know. “This is Vilkas, Wulfjar, and Sebastian,” the mage continued, gesturing to each of them. She let her eyes linger on Wulfjar the longest, her red gaze narrowing slightly. He wondered if she could tell the guard was a werewolf.

            “We should get moving,” Vilkas spoke up. “We are already two days out, it will be another four before we return if we can find this island easily.”

            Wulfjar smirked and patted the other nord on the shoulder, “We’ll get you back to your woman soon.” Then he peeked at Danse and nodded, “Both of you.”

            Serana ignored them and spoke with Rothruin as they left the crypt. Sebastian only understood parts of what they talked about, but it seemed they were trying to pinpoint how long she had been in there. From what he caught, it was a lot longer than she had intended to be locked away. He wondered how it felt to wake up to your world so much older, so different, but still the same?

            It must be similar to how Nate felt when he woke up from Vault 111. But Nate hadn’t been a vampire, knowing he would live an extended life, and hadn’t gone into his situation willingly.

            Thought of the Vault Dweller that had inadvertently ruined his life brought the Dragonborn’s thoughts ever more inward. How would things have been different if Nate hadn’t been there at all? Skaddi hadn’t gotten the holotape from the Institute, they all would have gone on without knowing the truth, even himself.

            Would he have preferred remaining ignorant to his identity? Would he rather believe he was as human as the woman he loved? Was knowing any better?

            Reagan still loved him. He knows how much she loves him because of what happened. She didn’t even hesitate to leave her life, her family, her friends, the Brotherhood, for him. And despite growing up knowing synths were evil, not to be trusted, and were not people: she loved him and cared for the child she carried.

            He made a _child_ , something that can only happen when human DNA meets human DNA to mingle and make something viable. The only thing he feared was for its health. What if his DNA caused the child to be deformed? Die before birth? Have severe mental impairments?

            They weren’t in the Wasteland where they had Knight-Captain Cade’s med unit and the whole of the Brotherhood of Steel’s resources to keep the child alive. They were even worse off than the wastelanders outside of the settlements. What did he have access to here if something went wrong?

            Would Reagan still love him? She wanted children so bad, he remembered her telling him about it when they were on watch together. She hadn’t let her experiences with Jacob Glass taint her want for a family. But if he couldn’t give her one…?

            Vilkas could. But would that part them? Put emotional distance between him and both of them? The Companion had made his move on him first, but he and Reagan were getting on very well. He didn’t feel the bite of jealousy, and couldn’t see himself getting there until they both cut him out of the relationship.

            He wouldn’t let it get that far, he would dismiss himself before he made them decide to exclude him. It wouldn’t be right for him to hold onto what he didn’t deserve. What of this was he worthy of anyway? What did he do to become Dragonborn? Why was he remotely worth being compared to Skaddi in such a way? She had been Dragonborn, and he thought he understood what that meant, but now he… now he was called the same and it felt like it meant something so different to him.

            She had saved the world, Nirn, from being consumed by a dragon, and what was he doing? Helping take a vampire home where he and his friends were most likely going to become dinner. An outstanding plan. Now his pregnant girlfriend is going to be left in this strange land with their unborn baby, and–

            “Brother.”

            Sebastian jerked and only now noticed that he was being gripped by the shoulders and shaken slightly. Vilkas was watching him with narrowed, concerned eyes the color of pure river water. They were at their camp. He’d spent the whole night and day pondering his life and existence, Reagan and Vilkas’ love for him, and his place here as Dragonborn.

            “What ails you?” the nord asked, his voice low.

            Rothruin was speaking with Serana still, on the other side of the fire. Their voices were barely discernable over the crackle of the burning wood. Wulfjar was circling the camp, his gaze watchful. Sebastian himself was shaking, his skin prickling from the night air despite the sweat dripping from his temple.

            “I just…” he cleared his throat and took an interest in the dirt between them. “I’ve been thinking.”

            “About?” the nord released his shoulders and brushed the growing hair from the other man’s eyes.

            “Reagan,” Sebastian breathed. “The baby… you. Being Dragonborn…”

            The Companion nodded, but didn’t say anything until the other man met his gaze. “What is it that you’ve come to decide?”

            “Decide?”

            “You have a sorrowful look. Like one who has made a decision he did not wish to.”

            “I…” had he? He had. “I decided I would leave if you and Reagan no longer wanted me.”

            This seemed to shock the nord. His dark brows perked and then he frowned. “Why would we wish you gone?”

            “The baby…” his voice broke and Danse turned to leave the light of the camp, heading into the darkness of the snowy night. They would cross the water in the morning. The beach they were camped on was near a dock with a boat that looked relatively maintained, despite Serana having remembered there being one since she had lived there. He could hear the Companion follow him. “If the baby isn’t healthy…. She wants a family.”

            “We can be a family.”

            “You could give her what I can’t.”

            “You don’t know that,” Vilkas snagged Sebastian’s shoulder and turned him so they were face to face. They must have been a sight: both dark-haired and bearded, of similar builds and dressed in thick, heavy armor. He didn’t care; he stepped closer and dipped his head so his forehead rested on the other man’s shoulder plate. “You worry too much.”

            Vilkas circled his arms around him and held him for a moment. The embrace was awkward from their armor, but neither said anything. It was comforting to have the contact. He wasn’t used to it, but he knew he could start.

            “You need to sleep. Relax,” his voice was low, gentle, and comforting, easing Sebastian’s aching heart. “I’ll take watch after Wulfjar. Sleep through the night.”

            “All right.”

 

 

            “My lord! Everyone! Serana has returned!”

            Sebastian stiffened and felt his companions do the same. Wulfjar had remained back at their camp with instructions to wait no longer than a day for their return before going back to Fort Dawnguard. Rothruin, Vilkas, Sebastian, and Serana continued to the castle of vampires. It was… surprisingly welcoming.

            He thought they were going to be attacked on sight, but Serana stepped up and got them right in. But now they stood at the top of a staircase, leading into a room smelling vaguely similar to that of a super mutant hive. The only difference was this smelled like the _outside_ of one, or one at a distance, meaning the intensity wasn’t as overwhelming. The stench of blood still made Sebastian’s stomach flip.

            “I guess I’m expected,” Serana breathed as she passed the men to follow the vampire who announced them down the stairs.

            “I can’t believe it,” more than one person in the room said.

            “It’s really her.”

            “It’s been so long.”

            “My long-lost daughter returns at last!” a booming voice took over the room, drawing all eyes to him. “I trust you have my Elder Scroll?” the man in the center of the room completely ignored Sebastian and the others as they approached. His gaze was locked on Serana and the large scroll strapped to her back. He found it odd that a father’s first concern when his _long-lost daughter_ shows up is the scroll she had.

            Serana seemed to have the same thought, “After all these years, that’s the first thing you ask me?” She crossed the room quickly and then folded her arms when she stopped in front of him. “Yes. I have the scroll.”

            “Of course I’m delighted to see you, my daughter. Must I really say the words aloud?” The man before them was around Vilkas or Sebastian’s age but shared with his daughter most of their features. “Ah, if only your traitor mother were here, I would let her watch this reunion before putting her head on a spike.” Oh, well, that was a pleasant image. “Now tell me, who are these strangers you have brought into our hall?” His glowing eyes flicked over to Sebastian and he lifted a gesturing hand.

            “They are my saviors, the ones who freed me.”

            He let out a thoughtful sound and then straightened his shoulders, demanding all attention. “For my daughter’s safe return, you have my gratitude. Tell me, what are your names?”

            “I am Sebastian, and these are my companions, Rothruin and Vilkas.” He didn’t point them out to tell him who was who.

            “I am Harkon, lord of this court. By now, my daughter will have told you what we are.”

            Well, that wasn’t… ominous. “Vampire lords,” Rothruin supplied.

            “Very good,” Harkon looked on to the high elf. “Not just any vampires. We are among the oldest and most powerful in Skyrim. For centuries we lived here, far from the cares of the world. All that ended when my wife betrayed me and stole away that which I valued most,” he paced back and forth. Though Rothruin seemed interested, Danse shared Vilkas’ tense posture. “You deserve a reward. All of you,” he grinned, showing teeth Sebastian didn’t want anywhere near. “There is but one gift I can give that is equal in value to the Elder Scroll and my daughter.” He lifted his arms in a celebratory way as if they should drop to their knees as they listened. “I offer you my blood. Take it, and you will walk as a lion among sheep. Men will tremble at your approach, and you will never fear death again.”

            There was a pause and then Sebastian spoke up, “And if we refuse your gift?” He hoped his tone didn’t betray his feelings. He was pretty sure neither man in his party wanted this reward and more than he did. But if their life hinged on it, then they would have to come up with a plan to get out.

            “Then you will be prey, like all mortals. I will spare your life this once, but you will be banished from this hall.” That was comforting. Danse was about to speak, deciding for them they would take the safe escape over the leeching gift. But Harkon cut in. “Perhaps you still need convincing? Behold the power!” he growled, voice dropping several octaves before he bowed forward.

            His skin and clothing tore, ripping with a burst of blood. It happened so fast that the Sebastian couldn’t track the movement. The man in front of him had turned into a beast, something that could easily compete with a werewolf if it desired.

            “This is the power that I offer!” he roared. His hands splayed wide with a pair of leathery wings behind him. His clawed feet tapped on the stone floor as he shifted his weight and displayed his thick chest. The cape he had been wearing along with the armored skirt he had were the only remaining pieces of clothing and dripped with blood. He stood like that for a moment before another vampire –one who still remained in human form– ran up and placed a golden crown upon his head and used a red towel to dry off his swelled chest.

            Harkon’s face looked nothing like it had before, but shared the eyes. Glowing orbs that bore into Danse, daring him to refuse.

            “Now, make your choice!”

            It was a lot to take in, but the Dragonborn stared into the eyes of the vampire lord and said, “We refuse your gift.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, last update was in Oct??? Shit. I didn't think it'd been that long ago. Anyway, this was hard on me, it took me forever to get this one, I think I'm going to try to go original from here on out, make it flow a bit better, but I'll keep looking up canon to make it happen how it does in game. Shit's gonna get real. I hope to finish this up soon, maybe get on to the third installment of the series?? oooooOOOOOhhh


	25. Something There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why you kill daddy? ...Was… was daddy bad?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something There ~Beauty and the Beast

**Reagan**

The night was cool; wind blew lazily passed her, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Standing high on Fort Dawnguard’s battlements, Reagan watched for sign of Sebastian and Vilkas’ return. She’d come out for a few hours each night for the last week. She knew it would take them a long time to get to where they were going, but she didn’t have the advantage of radio communication, or geo-tracking in their power armor.

She did her best to keep calm –stress wouldn’t be good for the baby– but she didn’t like standing around here waiting like a civilian she knew she wasn’t. It was easier during the day: keeping busy helping Isran straighten up the Fort and Celann with clearing the grounds so that they could get some trade started. At least she knew she was better off than Agmear. The boy couldn’t shoot straight, and anytime he was pitted up against Celann for training with his _pa’s ax_ he would end up on his ass in the dirt, bruised and a little bloody. To his credit, he didn’t give up, nor did he complain about his hurts.

Thorbjorn was decent company, but with Duncan hanging on him, it was hard for her to go near him without depressing herself. The boy was getting the help he needed though, and looked a little better every time she saw him. It didn’t quell the regret for killing his father, though, knowing the boy was now orphaned save his father’s killer and her band of merry men. So she ended up right back up here, watching the path. It left her time to reflect.

His scent hit her before the sound of his feet on the stone. He smelled like honey, nuts, and dirt, but it wasn’t a completely unpleasant smell. She turned around and looked down at Duncan as he slowly stepped closer to her, his sky like eyes wide as he took in the sight of her. She couldn’t be sure why he was there, or what he was expecting, but he seemed surprised for some reason. And then his face twisted into a very serious expression.

“Why you kill daddy?”

Shocked by his bluntness, she just stared at him for a moment. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

“Was… was daddy bad?” Duncan wiped at his face, smearing some icing from his sleeve across his cheek.

“Oh,” she felt his pain in her chest and dropped to her knees. He flinched away from her, but she shook her head, keeping her palms up toward him so he could see them. “He… he wasn’t bad, Duncan. He just did bad things, sometimes people do bad things….” This made her feel even worse.

“Why do people do bad things? If daddy did bad things… does that mean everybody that does bad things gets killed?” he asked, his sky like eyes widened at her. He was trying to rationalize a world –two worlds– that weren’t rational, especially to that of a child.

“People do bad things for a lot of reasons,” she explained slowly. “Sometimes they think its right, and sometimes they are trying to protect someone. Your daddy… he killed my best friend. He did it because he thought it would protect you. But…” she didn’t know how to tell this child that she killed his father just because he killed her best friend. It seemed so petty now. Well, as petty as murder was. How would a child understand such a thing? Their worlds weren’t civilized, an eye for an eye, a life for a life.

Duncan sniffled and wiped his face again. “I miss my daddy,” he whispered, his voice cracking. Tears poured down his chubby cheeks.

Reagan wanted to reach out to him, she wanted to hold him and wipe away his tears and tell him that she was sorry and she would never hurt him again. Instead, she frowned and nodded, “I know, Duncan. I’m so sorry. I missed my friend, and I did a bad thing, too.”

“I’m gonna find Mister Th–thor bee horn,” he said and turned around, running on unsteady feet back toward the stairs.

“Out–fucking–standing,” Reagan breathed and put her face in her hands, feeling the heat of tears spill onto her palms and drip down her wrists.

“There ya go, lass,” Gunmar smiled, his red-bearded smile wide. “Now yer gettin’ it.”

Reagan laughed and turned the hot metal over to look at it before dropping it into the water. “It’s a small dagger.”

“But a fine one for a first timer,” the nord nodded and knelt beside the bubbling water. “Aye, it’ll be a good piece. What’d you plan to do with it?”

“I haven’t decided yet. I was thinking of…” she looked past him to the boy sitting at the table with Thorbjorn and then she cleared her throat. “I’ll probably work on making them as nice as I can before I go giving them away.”

He nodded his understanding and followed her quick glance at the boy. “Isran hasn’t spoken to ya about the Blood yet, aye?”

She stiffened then and carefully looked sideways at the blacksmith. He was examining her quenching dagger, looking as if he was about to pull it out. “No. He hasn’t.”

“We have no quarrel with you,” the ginger stated, taking the tongs from her before snagging the dagger. “But if your kind becomes–”

There was a creak of old hinges followed by loud talking and laughing. Reagan tore away from the smith, disregarding his conversation switch as well as her unfinished dagger. The voices that touched her ears were familiar, but had been left unheard for weeks. She had moved on from worry in favor of impatience. “Sei?”

The laughing died down when Reagan took the corner. She hadn’t realized the way would be blocked, and ended up slamming right into the metal gate that had erected to keep those in the foyer right there. Confused, Sebastian and Vilkas both came to her, more slowly than she had. The Dragonborn took her hand and looked at the metal gate as he kissed her knuckles.

“What’s this?” he asked, his voice sounding hoarse.

Vilkas touched the bars and lifted a brow, his nose twitching as he noted the metal. “Silver inlaid?”

Reagan touched it. It felt hot rather than like idling metal, as if it had been sitting in the sun or near a flame. “Well, looks like a silver bullet’ll get me.”

“Any bullet would get you,” Sebastian breathed, not really looking at her when he spoke. She felt guilty for the joke then and turned to Vilkas, before she could speak, Isran’s booming voice echoed down from above.

“Sorry ‘bout this, friends, just need to make sure you aren’t changed.”

Vilkas stepped back and narrowed his pale blue eyes. “You think we would return if we had accepted that taint?”

Isran and Reagan zeroed in on _accepted_. “What happened out there?” the man asked.

“There was a woman, a vampire, trapped in the crypt,” Danse started. Reagan felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She’d read books back in the wasteland about vampires. They were, more often than not, sexualized and commonly beautiful as well as deadly. The vampires she’d seen weren’t paralleled with her imagination, but she couldn’t recall a female one.

Wait. She was getting jealous? Reagan’s nose wrinkled and she resisted snorting at herself. The Dragonborn had continued speaking.

“We escorted her back to her home. They’re… different from the vampires we’ve seen. More powerful, more like the werewolves.”

“Aye, it was a bloody transformation,” Vilkas inserted.

Rothruin stepped forward, “They seemed older as well. They had a castle that appears older than even Fort Dawnguard. They may be the source of vampires in Skyrim.”

Reagan couldn’t see Isran, but she imagined his dark face stony and without emotion, save his eyes narrowing in thought and suspicion. He finally spoke. “And they offered to make you vampires?”

“Yes,” Danse answered, his chocolate eyes staring up at the Dawnguard leader. His hair had gotten longer still, and his beard was coming in thickly. He was so far out of the clean-cut Paladin’s regulation she’d gotten to know she could justify playfully not recognizing him.

Light flashed, pouring down over them, but the men simply flinched in surprise. After a moment, they all stood straight and glared up at Isran. “Was that _really_ necessary?” Wulfjar barked and held a hand up over his brow to shield his eyes. He looked exhausted and had dark circles under his eyes. She wondered what was wrong with him.

“You should rest up, we have work to do,” Isran said and the clatter of metal on stone opened the gates to them.

Vilkas hit the bed and kicked his boots off, not bothering with anything else, he shimmied his shoulders into the mattress and rested his hands on the plate armor of his chest. In record time a soft snore slipped from his lips. Reagan stared at the nord for a moment and then turned to Danse who was slowly, stiffly, removing himself from his leather and steel cocoon.

“Hey there, sexy,” she grinned and aided him in loosening straps and pulling off pieces.

“I don’t feel very sexy,” he groaned softly and Reagan smirked at him.

“I think it’s this new face you’re wearing,” she ran her hand through his beard and then up into his hair. “I can cut it if you want.”

“Do you like it like this?” he whispered lowly and met her gaze. His eyes were so dark, either with exhaustion or something else, she couldn’t be sure.

“I like it…” she said and curled her fingers, locking the hair at the back of his in place. She used this grip to tilt his head down to her.

His hand went straight to her hips, holding her to him as they opened their mouths to each other, letting their tongues reunite and dance. She missed his taste. The smell of earth and power armor steel came with it. She broke the kiss to press her nose into the crook of his neck. Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes and imagined being back on the Prydwen in his quarters.

“You smell like home.”

He wrapped his arms around her, securing her to his chest. His lips touched her temple, then her hair, and one of his hands traced a line up to her hair, tangling in it for a moment. It felt nice to have her roots played with; to feel the tug when a lock would catch, or the tingle of hundreds of strands being plucked like guitar strings. The beast within her rumbled with need, stirring heat between her thighs.

“I need you,” she whispered. Her voice was throated and low. Her teeth skimmed over his flesh, the short hairs on his neck flicked as they were passed. He shifted his hips and gave off the strongest scent she could imagine. It was masculine and primal and full of desire so thick her head spun.

Reagan hit the mattress with a little too much force and stared up at Sebastian as he stepped closer, looking as if he were going to kneel. She kicked a foot up and stopped his shoulder, brows lifted as she met his gaze.

“No, none of that, _I_ want to play.” The Dragonborn’s lips quirked and he grabbed her ankle, bringing her foot closer to his face. His lips touched the inside of the arch, but his eyes never left hers.

“As you wish.”

He let go of her and she quickly got down in front of him, sitting with her legs bent beside her because of her height. With a quick look around, Reagan confirmed no one else was in the barracks. They didn’t have any privacy, but she wasn’t worried. Danse would be the one to get shy anyway, and he seemed utterly distracted at the moment. With a smile in place, she removed his belt and freed him from a layer of steel. It wasn’t as easy of access as the flight suit, but she managed, and by the time she got him free, Danse had been stripped down to his skin and stood with his back to a wardrobe, as if it would protect him from prying eyes.

Reagan caught his length at the base and licked up to his head. Not wasting time, she wrapped her lips around him and bobbed her head down. A groan left them both. She liked the taste of him, and when the mood struck her, there was nothing more she wanted than to have a throbbing cock in her mouth.

The former Paladin placed his hand on her head, a gentle acknowledgment, but she adjusted her hair and offered it to him. He gripped it and gave a test pull, tilting her face so she looked up at him with wide, gleaming silver eyes.

“If I hurt you–” he started.

“I’ll tap twice if it’s too hard,” she said and placed her hand on his thigh. After she patted him twice, he nodded and took a deep breath, watching as she returned her attention to the thick shaft before her. “Mmm, he’s standing at attention,” she smirked and looked up at him. “Good, soldier.”

Sebastian’s teeth clenched when she took him into her mouth, sinking as deeply as she could. Her head tilted for a better angle and her nose brushed hair. She swallowed, feeling his head press at the back of her throat and she focused on keeping relaxed so as not to gag. The grip on her hair tightened, enough to prick her roots, but it made her groan. The vibration tickled him and his hips bucked impulsively, pulling from her mouth slightly, then replacing itself buried in her.

Her lips clung to the shaft, gliding along it as she started moving. Twisting her head, the rhythm she and Sebastian set was slow, long, and deep, taking in his whole length. If she gagged, they paused for a moment, allowing her to compose herself. One hand cupped his balls, kneading them gently, while the other moved between his base and thigh for support.

Sebastian’s composure was long lost, but he was doing his best to keep quiet as she devoured him. One of his hands grabbed the top of the wardrobe, accentuating the muscles of his body as he flexed and fought against the want to be more audible. Her hungry whimpers didn’t help, she was sure, but she hadn’t felt this need before. It was like she couldn’t get enough of him, specifically his cock.

Soft slurps escaped her, making her cringe inwardly. Any of the wolves would no doubt hear what was happening. She hoped that would get them to keep others out, rather than invite them to investigate. While the sloppy sounds made her nervous, it seemed to push Sebastian higher.

Danse rested his head against the wardrobe and sighed deeply, his hand in her hair flexed when she did something that felt too good. But the latest groan she heard wasn’t his.

Reagan tilted her head so she could look in the direction of the sound and continue to bob against her Dragonborn. The Companion was lying there, watching her. He seemed to have decided to keep out of it, favoring a hand down against his groin, rubbing at the near painful strain against the leather. He looked away like he was ashamed and she pulled off of Danse with a _pop_.

Surprised and disappointed, he grunted and looked down at her, his fingers shifting in her hair, but didn’t pull or push her away. Seeing her line of sight, he turned his attention to Vilkas also.

“What’cha doin’ there?” she asked, crawling across the stone floor to the bed. The nord sighed and shook his head, looking like he was keeping himself from laughing.

“Just ignore me, lass. Keep having your fun.” She didn’t stop when she reached the side of his bed. She used her arms to pull her up toward him, looking down at him like a puppy would a playmate.

“Oh no,” she growled, baring her teeth. She pressed her face into his neck, drawing that laugh out. Her teeth found his throat, grazing over the skin so that she could taste the rough texture of his beard, the salt from sweat, and fill her nose with the scent of the wild that he was. “You’re joining us. You look ready.” Her hand slid down his chest plate to the leather belt. He’d begun removing his armor, but hadn’t gotten far.

“You sure?” He looked past her to Danse. Reagan turned to peer at the other man over her shoulder. He was holding his erection, fingers stroking the soaked head absently. His gaze was moving between her rear –which was stuck up from how she leaned against the bed– to her face, then to Vilkas. “And you, brother?”

“We said we were going to try it,” he said easily. Reagan beamed and turned back to Vilkas.

“Come’ere,” she murmured and pulled on his armor to get him to roll out of the bed.

“I’ve never…” Vilkas coughed and looked between them. “I mean, I have with a woman, but just… it was just us.”

“Oh,” Reagan smiled up at him. “Now _you’re_ the shy one.”

Sebastian came over and grabbed Reagan’s hair, giving it a gentle tug. “Don’t be mean.”

“I wasn’t,” she promised and looked up at him innocently. Then she smiled comfortingly at Vilkas, “None of us have done this before. We’ll take it slow.”

Vilkas shed his armor with their help and stood straight, a little stiff, in front of them. Reagan kept her place on the ground, enjoying the view of the two men standing over her. She obviously had a type, they looked so similar but so different. Both were tall, dark, and handsome, but they wore it differently. Sebastian was a soldier, and Vilkas a warrior. They knew war, but they were different kinds of warfare. It wore on them differently. Danse took on a leaner appearance compared to the Companion who wielded a two-handed weapon. Vilkas had more scars, but Sebastian had more burns from laser fire.

Reagan grabbed Sebastian’s length and then Vilkas’, both by the base. “I don’t mind if you hold my head or pull my hair. I’ll tap twice if you’re getting too rough,” she stated to the Companion. “If you don’t notice or it’s too sudden, I’ll just push off. Don’t try to hold me in place, but don’t be afraid you’ll hurt me, just relax.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the nord breathed, his pale blue eyes shining with what she could only describe as love or admiration. He rested a rough, callused hand on her head and caught her hair like Danse had a moment ago.

Using her grip on them, she pulled them both closer and started to stroke them. Vilkas’ was dry, but Sebastian still had some slick left to him, so she started with the Companion. Smiling, she looked up at him and ran her tongue flat along the bottom of him, from base to head, her hand moving down to cup his balls. He shifted his feet for better stability, and then rested his hand on Danse’s shoulder. They stepped closer to each other, so that they could support each other, and Reagan used the proximity to switch between them, licking up from the bottom, and sucking on the sides.

They both noticed she had slowed down, started to take her time. She looked up at them and quirked a brow playfully. “Were you wanting more?” she whispered, her lips rubbing against the side of Vilkas’ length.

“You know what we want, lass,” he answered and tightened his fingers to give her roots a tug. She grinned and tilted her head into it so that he could see her reaction without applying more pressure. “What is it that you’re wanting?”

“I want to suck you both,” she groaned lowly with her eyes closed. Then she looked at them both and said, “But I want you two to touch each other. Don’t have to do much, I just want to see something between you.”

Then she lowered her lips to Vilkas’ head, suckling on the tip, her tongue lapping at the sensitive skin just under it. He groaned and turned to Danse, thick brows lifted. “Up to you, brother,” he breathed.

The former Paladin shifted and used the arm he was holding Vilkas with to pull him closer. Their foreheads touched and Reagan grinned, sinking lower onto the Companion. Her silver gaze was fixed on them as they slowly tilted their faces to meet. Lips brushing lightly against each other's, the kiss was timid and unsure, but she rewarded them by taking in Vilkas all the way, drawing a deep, throated sound from him.

She switched over to Danse quickly, giving him the same reward and pulling a similar sound from him. Her hands worked on the shaft she wasn’t devouring, stroking it to match the pace of her head bobbing. When her tongue swirled around the head, she did the same with her thumb. The men’s groans worked together to give her the satisfaction of knowing they all were enjoying this.

Vilkas leaned into Sebastian, his mouth on his neck. The close proximity allowed her to press the cocks together and put both heads in her mouth. They groaned in unison, and it quickly became too much for the men as they started bucking their hips together, rubbing their slick shafts against each other and into her waiting lips.

One of them had their hand on her neck and the other held her hair. There was no pushing, just resting and massaging fingers, begging for more in tandem with their heaving breaths. She tried to look up at them, but favored the angle that put the two heads into her cheeks. Her tongue swirled around them, doing her best to give them equal time, as her fists pumped what couldn’t make it into her moist mouth.

Briefly, she let herself imagine sucking on one of them while the other took her from behind, but she knew that would have to wait. Now was for them, to get comfortable with each other and her there. They would work into other positions, but for now, she was more than content.

Sebastian came first, having had her working him longer, but Vilkas wasn’t far behind when he watched her pull off to swallow his head and drink him, sucking until he stopped pulsing. The Companion kissed her after she’d swallowed his load. His fingers tangled in her hand and he kneeled to meet her on her level. The kiss was deep, and he pressed his tongue into her mouth to taste his and the Dragonborn’s seed.

When he pulled away, Danse reached down and pulled her to her feet, keeping her close as he nuzzled her cheek and kissed her, more reserved than the other man, but no less loving. He smiled at her, his creamy brown eyes bright with excitement and affection. Reagan swung her arm out and pulled the Companion in so he was pressed against her and Sebastian.

“I think this is going to be a very good thing,” she whispered to them, taking a moment to kiss each of their cheeks.

“Aye,” Vilkas pressed his forehead to hers and Sebastian lowered his own also. They stood like that for a long time, the three of them holding each other.

Finally, they parted and helped each other clean up before getting dressed to find the rest of the crowd for a meal before bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot! First threeway! Looking forward to seeing what they do next! And what was that with Reagan and Duncan? Will he ever forgive her? Will she forgive herself?


	26. There's Room for Everyone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Less plot in this chapter, but some important nods and foreshadowing as well as character happenings, and then there at the end, the plot LITERALLY walks right in uninvited, lol. Enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's Room for Everyone ~Pete's Dragon

**Danse**

 

            Sebastian woke up to the soft whimpers of his girlfriend having a nightmare. He quickly went to her bedside and was about to try to rouse her when she snapped forward with a gasp and grabbed her chest. She saw him at the corner of her eye and snagged him by the throat, taking them both to the floor before he could react.

            She snarled at him, the sound animalistic and wild, gurgling in her throat before making it out of her bared teeth. Her eyes reflected like a canine’s in the dark, catching flickers of light. And while the attack only lasted a second, long enough for her to realize who he was, it hurt enough he knew he’d bruise and he couldn’t breathe for the whole of it.

            “Shit, Sei,” she wheezed and fell off of him, bumping into Vilkas’ bunk. The Companion had already started to get up but now held his ground, looking at them as he tried to decide what to do. “I’m so sorry,” she came forward as he sat up and touched his throat gingerly.

            “I’m fine, Reagan,” he promised, but she shook her head, tears welling in her eyes.

            “I hurt you,” she said and jerked her hand away from him, looking at it like it was a radscorpion. “I can’t believe myself.”

            “You were having a nightmare.” He didn’t blame her at all, he should have put himself at her side like that, he’d been trained better for these situations.

            “I… it was the Blood, I was hunting and something… vampires happened,” she shook her head and touched the column of her throat as if remembering the dream. “They were after the baby.” Her other hand went to her stomach.

            Sebastian wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “They won’t touch you, we have too many defenses here.”

            “Aye, lass,” Vilkas rested his hand on her head, fingers weaving into her messy hair. “If they get by us, they’d have to get through you and I don’t see that happening,” he gently stroked the top of her head and she tilted it back, looking up at him through the darkness.

            “Yeah? Is it because of my lightning fast reflexes?” she lifted her hands and shook them like a cat clawing the air. “Or is it the bite that’s worse than my bark?” she turned her head around and tried to playfully snap at the nord’s hand on top of her head. He chuckled and even Danse laughed quietly.

            She seemed like she was a little better. Reagan didn’t get caught up on things if others didn’t. He knew she would feel bad for hurting him for some time, but at least she was allowing them to comfort her.

            Vilkas joined them on the floor after a moment of silence and Reagan started to nod off again, arms slung over their shoulders. Then her stomach growled and she groaned a little. “I need food.”

            “It’s three in the morning,” there was a smile in Vilkas’ voice.

            “Tell that to the baby in me,” she stood up, half pulling them with her. Sebastian figured he was up now, and that he might as well spend as much time with her as he could before another mission would take him away. This time he wanted to see if Vilkas would stay behind with her, he didn’t like her staying behind and alone. It reminded him too much of when he went to the Commonwealth and she’d remained behind in the Capital Wasteland.

            With how things turned out, he couldn’t be sure if he regretted the decision. Had she come with his recon team, he might have lost her like he did more than of his squad, but having her –another suit as well as a skilled warrior– might have changed a lot of things. It wasn’t worth the thought now, though, he needed to focus on her and Vilkas as they were here in Skyrim. Had anything in the past been different, they could easily not be standing here as they were.

            Much to all of their surprise, they weren’t the only one awake. Thorbjorn was sitting in the mess, chewing on what looked like a slab of ham as he turned pages in a book. The lighting must have been hard on his eyes, but he was probably used to it as candle and torchlight were all they had. Danse would never complain about a dim light bulb again, that is if he ever got to experience one again.

            “Rex,” Reagan grinned and threw her arms out. “What’cha doin’ up so early?”

            The nord looked up and snorted. “I don’t sleep much, Spadetail. You know this.”

            “Actually, I didn’t.” She plopped down next to him and looked at the book he was reading. “What’s what?”

            “The first of my favorite series.” He offered her the novel and she turned it over to look at the worn binding before opening to the first page. Danse picked up a few apples and Vilkas found a loaf of bread and they joined the other two at the table.

            “Beggar by Reven,” Reagan read and flipped it a few pages to start skimming.

            “It’s about the fifth born prince of a kingdom that’s been divided as an inheritance among his older siblings because no sibling had the whole power to keep or care for the place, it fell into… despair,” Thorbjorn smirked and Sebastian got the impression that was putting it mildly.

            “Ah, I remember the books,” Vilkas nodded. “Beggar, Thief, Warrior, King, aye?”

            “Aye,” the blonde nord nodded. “I prefer Thief myself.”

            “I seemed to remember Warrior being my favorite,” the Companion shrugged and tore the bread into pieces to share.

            “May I keep it to read?”

            “It’s a personal copy, take all the time you need,” Thorbjorn rested his hand on Reagan’s head and smiled at her. “I’ll know if it’s missing pages, though, be warned.”

            She laughed, “I wouldn’t dare ruin a book. Where I came from, something this well preserved would have been a treasure.”

            “Quinlan would have killed several people for it,” Sebastian agreed and Reagan laughed, a snort ripping from her nose causing them all to smile. She ignored that and wiggled a finger at the Dragonborn.

            “Remember when Scribe Whatsherface bent his Grognak comic? Shit, I thought he was going to throw her off the Prydwen,” Reagan laughed and shifted in her seat.

            “Prydwen?” Vilkas tilted his head.

            “Yeah,” Reagan put the book down and grabbed one of the loaf ends, holding it up. “Imagine this is the Prydwen. It’s a… uh, sky-ship? Sure,” she looked at Danse who nodded and shrugged, agreeing that was probably the best description they’d get. “So she’s huge, like we fit hundreds of soldiers on her, including out suits.” That seemed to make Vilkas appreciate the size, but Thorbjorn’s expression was an easy-interested as he followed along. “She flies through the air, hitting about sixty miles an ‘our when we’re pushing for time–”

            “Wait,” Vilkas lifted his hands to stop her. “Sixty _miles_ an… _hour?_ ”

            “Yes, she can cross sixty miles in an hour. A mile a minute.”

            Thorbjorn shifted where he sat. “A horse can cross fifteen miles before exhausted, but it’ll take him an hour and a half to complete it.”

            Reagan nodded, “And our vertibirds can go even faster.”

            “No,” Vilkas breathed.

            “One _hundred_ sixty, _average_ ,” she crossed her arms and looked at them satisfied.

            “I…” Vilkas seemed like he was trying to comprehend the speed, but Danse knew there was no way for them to truly understand it.

            “It’s roughly the speed of an arrow from a strong bow,” he supplied and Thorbjorn shook his head.

            “And these were your… ways of travel?”

            “Yes,” Sebastian nodded. “If we had the fuel. Before the war that destroyed our world’s civilization, there were cars –covered carts that were self-propelled– that could drive faster. They were raced. And the military had airplanes, they flew…” Danse shook his head. “Maybe twice as fast as our vertibirds.”

            “The civilian’s shit wasn’t too bad. They would use the airplanes to cross long distances to visit family or for work,” she pointed out.

            “What happened to your world?” Thorbjorn ask. “You say it was… destroyed, but you also talk as though you’re from after its destruction.”

            “We are,” Sebastian breathed. “The war was about two hundred years before our time. But the devastation was…” he shook his head.

            “We weren’t able to recover.” And the tale began: everything that Reagan and Danse knew between them about before the war up until they left.

            By the time they finished, others had begun waking up, and some sat around to listen. They tried to keep everyone interested by making the story more exciting and less of a documentary. Well, more so _Reagan_ did. Danse just made sure everything said was in the best chronological order possible, and as accurate to both their knowledge as they could be sure.

            When it got to Skaddi, the things she could do and that she talked about, the others seemed even more interested. It seemed knowing what one of their own would do against such strange forces was more inspiring than just hearing about a world so unlike theirs.

            Duncan came in, stumbling on sleepy feet, and climbed into Thorbjorn’s lap despite his sitting beside Reagan. The boy even took some bread offered to him by the woman. He eventually added in his only little details. They were mostly babblings and stories his dad told him, but Reagan and Danse translated to the others for him.

            Apparently, he’d been picking up the language that the nords spoke, though, because he was able to whisper to Thorbjorn without Reagan or Danse saying anything. That, or the nord knew the English word well enough to figure it out. It was hard for Danse to really keep straight what languages were being spoken and who understood whom since he and Reagan had the translation necklaces.

            He knew it was easier for kids to pick up second and third and so on, languages than adults. He also knew that if he and Reagan were really going to be living here, they’d need to learn the language. Neither of them was truly comfortable relying so heavily on the magical items around their neck. And seeing the kid speak so freely with Thorbjorn gave Danse a kick in the rear.

            He turned to Vilkas at his side who was drinking a honey mead as he flipped through some papers Wulfjar had sat in front of him. They were letters it looked like.

            “What’s that, brother?”

            The Companion perked up and grinned at him. “A report from Lydia on Jorrvaskr. My brother and she have gotten on well it seems, in our absence, he’s earned her hand. We’ve been invited to the wedding.”

            “Lydia and Farkas are getting hitched?” Reagan blurted and smiled, but her brows were skewed.

            “So hard to believe?” Vilkas asked, daring her with his eyes to speak ill of his brother.

            “Not too long ago she seemed to have the hots for you is all I’m saying,” she rolled her shoulders and waved it off. “Just want to make sure she’s not settling, or going to hurt Farkas.”

            The Companion nodded, “He’ll be fine. He’s a strong man and Lydia would not have _settled_ for him.”

            Danse smiled, “Where’s the wedding?”

            “Riften, it appears we’re closer than even they are. Two days’ time,” he shifted and faced the Dragonborn. “I say we rest until then –would hate to miss the celebration.”

            “I agree,” Reagan nodded. “I could use some training with the weapons, I think it’d behoove us to learn the skills of the land, in case we’re ever without our rifles…”

            “Yes, maybe we’ll also try our hand at learning the language,” he glanced back at Vilkas who smiled.

            “’Tis a good plan, I like it,” he folded the papers and pushed them into the table some. “Let’s get started.”

 

 

            Hours later and Danse was on his ass, panting as Reagan tried, _again_ , to take Vilkas down. At some point, she had managed to get his wooden training sword away from him, but she’d also lost hers as well. They both knew the nord was going _very_ easy on her, a privilege that Sebastian had _not_ received. He didn’t mind. Reagan was one of the best hand-to-hand fighters in the Brotherhood because of her technique, speed, and strength. The last of which was more than the average woman, even in the Brotherhood.

            She couldn’t win a straight arm-wrestle with him or Arthur, but she could usually manage to break a hold or avoid getting into the hold all together. Wrestling and hand-to-hand fighting didn’t always translate. Her skill in hand-to-hand came from her savagery. Usually, she scared her opponent shitless because they went from thinking they were just going to punch and get punched by a woman a few times. Then Reagan would go in like a bear, arms swinging heavily and practiced. Wherever she saw you had open.

            Cade had tested her blood and confirmed she had an above average amount of testosterone in her, which helped kick her up. But Danse knew it wasn’t that. It was the mental game she played. She was a woman, one who was attractive and well endowed. She used that, got you comfortable or confident, and then broke you with her brutality. The only reason she’d stayed _best_ was that she had more wins than losses. The person who had the most wins was actually a paladin in the Capital Wasteland who did nothing but fight to get his number up. Her ratio was the best, and because it was _Reagan_ , she claimed the title as ‘Best in the Brotherhood’.

            Unfortunately, that meant nothing to Skyrim, and Vilkas took the Best in the Brotherhood to the ground.

            “There you are, lass,” the Companion grinned and gave her forehead a kiss.

            “Like this view?” she joked. She was taking the loss well.

            “Perhaps another time,” he stood and pulled her up with him. “You did fine, but you will need to learn a skill that favors your strengths.”

            “Lydia’s a warrior,” she pointed out, but Vilkas shook his head.

            “You’re no nord woman,” he looked her over and she put her hands on her hips. “As much like one you appear. You fight well with your magic thrower, yes?”

            “My laser rifle?”

            “Good Death you call it, aye?” he asked and she nodded. “Perhaps a crossbow will suit you then? The power behind it is superior to other bows and I imagine it will handle like your preferred weapon.”

            “Crossbow?” she pursed her lips and shrugged. “All right, but I still want to learn some swordplay.”

            “Of course,” he smiled and then pointed to Sebastian. “Brother, it’s your turn.”

            “To get beaten?” Danse breathed and stood up, crossing to the nord.

            “That’d be up to you,” he poked the dog tags on Danse’s chest.

            “If it was, you’d be the one on the ground.”

            “That so?”

            “Yes.”

            “Fight, fight, fight,” Reagan chuckled and threw back a tankard of water.

            Vilkas laughed, but Sebastian took the chance to throw his arms around the other man and take him to the dirt. The nord lost his breath in a rush and huffed, trying to get it back as he also reached for a hold on the dark haired man pinning him.

            “Yield,” the Dragonborn suggested, but his reply was a laugh.

            With arms and legs tangled together, it was hard for either of them to really know who had who, as neither could get the other to budge. They were both on their backs now, and neither seemed to have an advantage over the other.

            Reagan stepped up to them and held her hands behind her back, looking them over slowly. “You two okay?”

            “Never better,” Danse groaned with a smile. The strain in his voice was mirrored by the grunt from the Companion who was just as tense. Neither wanted to relax for fear of the other gaining a second’s advantage, but as they were, they couldn’t make more progress.

            “Someone gonna tap out?” she offered.

            “Nope.”

            “No.”

            “All righty then,” she crossed her arms and smiled down at them.

            Just then the sound of rushing feet made them all turn toward the entrance. Duncan was stampeding their way with a childish glee that couldn’t be matched. He leaped into the air and landed squarely on Danse’s stomach, thrusting the air from him in a painful rush.

            He’d flexed, but it didn’t save him, and he bent under the sudden pressure. Vilkas laughed and moved with him, allowing the Dragonborn room to recover as Duncan threw tiny fists into his thick muscles and howled with laughter.

            “Gotcha! Gotcha!” he shouted and then flung himself at Vilkas. “I win!” he cried out in a shrill voice.

            Danse spun around and grabbed the toddler, hoisting him up off the nord. The boy squealed with glee and threw his arms out as if to give himself wings. He didn’t miss the way Reagan stared, her face half covered by a hand masking her laugh and smile, but he saw the tears in her eyes, the ones that made the silver shine brighter.

            Vilkas stood and snagged the boy, lifting him up higher in arching sweeps. His screams echoed through the cave they were training in into the castle. Right past Thorbjorn in the doorway who was smiling at the display. It seemed they were all enjoying the moment, and for once they were allowed to hold onto it.

 

 

           

            “You’re ready?”

            Reagan, Vilkas, Wulfjar, and Thorbjorn were standing by the large doors leading out of the Fort. The Companion grinned at the other nords and looped his arm around Reagan and Danse’s shoulders. “As I’ll ever be.” He leaned over to each of them, pressing his lips to their cheeks and then stepped away to follow after the blonde nords. “I’ll be back by morning,” he promised his lovers.

            Reagan crossed her arms. “I should be going with them.”

            “If he loses control,” Sebastian started and her hand rested on her stomach as she sighed.

            “Yeah, I know,” she turned on her heels and marched into the mess as the men faded from view.

            “What do you want to do until they get back?” He followed behind her.

            “Baby names.”

            His brows shot up and he was pretty sure his heart stuttered. “What?”

            “You heard me,” she sat down at a table. They were the only ones in the mess other than Gunmar who was tipped back on a chair, balancing with his head hanging free and a heel anchoring him to the table in front of him. When he’d breath he’d shake a little, and Danse was sure when he finally snored he’d scare himself awake and end up on the floor with a concussion.

            “Where do you want to start?” Sebastian brought himself back to the conversation he was having with his girlfriend. His _pregnant_ girlfriend. About their baby. Inside of her.

            Jeeze, it was back to him first learning about it. He didn’t know how to speak, and suddenly breathing was hard. His thoughts drifted to counting heartbeats to make sure it wasn’t totally outrageous, but he didn’t have a clock to keep time, so that served him no honest use. Thankfully, Reagan had been distracted by rifling through papers to find a blank one. Then she snagged a piece of coal.

            “Ugh, this is going to _smear_.”

            “Artsy?” he smiled at her and she snorted.

            “I wish. I can’t do _shit_ that’s artistic. I think my most creative field is swearing. You know, I stumped Merr once? Stubbed my toe on a bunk back in the Capital and the trail just went,” she waved her hand like a jet taking off from the table and grinned at him. “But no, Michael was always more creative. He sang, played piano, hell, I’m pretty sure he could even dance better than me,” she made a noise through her lips and wagged the charcoal at Sebastian. “Pretty sure he couldn’t draw though, never really saw it if he did, he was always so busy. Nah, Artie’s the artist, you knew that? He’d doodle in his free time when we were little. Between poems and stories, he’d draw up little pictures…. I wonder if he kept with it,” she drifted off for a moment and then shrugged her shoulders.

            “I never knew he was artistic.”

            “Artie the artist,” she lifted her hands to arch them above her. “On and off the battlefield. I need that on a t-shirt.”

            Danse snorted this time, the laugh tearing out of his nose rather than his mouth and she smiled. “I’d like to see something you draw.”

            “Maybe later,” she drew a couple of lines as if testing ink in a pen, but it was a stick of charcoal so it wrote fine. “Any names you like that you’d be willing to name your baby?” She grinned at him and then offered, “Jason?”

            Cutler’s name struck his heart and he nodded once, not trusting his voice.

            “Jason then,” she wrote it down and Danse watched as her fingers curved the letters, forming them carefully with the unfamiliar utensil. “I think I like the feather pens more.”

            “What about you?” He tilted his head at her and then reached across the table to take her free hand. “Michael?”

            Her breath hitched and she nodded without looking at him, writing his name down carefully. After a moment she cleared her throat and straightened up. Her eyes were shiny. “Jason Michael or Michael Jason?”

            “You decide,” he told her and he meant it.

            She said the full name both ways and then met his gaze. “Jason Michael Danse I think. Sounds better whole. Jason Danse. Can call him Jaime, but spell it J-A-M-I after his first two letters of his first and middle names,” she underlined them and then smirked. “Because I like to be difficult.”

            Sebastian laughed and pointed out, “You named me Sei.”

            “I did. ‘Bash’ doesn’t fit you.”

            “What if we have a girl?”

            “Oh dear God,” Reagan breathed and rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. “I don’t know what I’d do. Women are evil.”

            “Is that so?” Danse smiled.

            “Merr was the only one I liked –well, Skaddi was cool, and Lydia. But _Christ_ , did you _meet_ Juliet? Or Elizabeth?” she flinched at her own words.

            “Haylen wasn’t­­–”

            “I know you two got on well, but that was just because she liked you –and Logan was giving her the cold shoulder,” she waved her hands. “He liked me better because I was one of the guys and didn’t try to _fix_ him. She wanted all these things from him he just wasn’t prepared to give her, and she wasn’t willing to go slow enough with him to work him up to something more than sleeping together.” Reagan waved her hands and tried to redirect the conversation. Talk of Rhys and Haylen gave him a sudden wave of homesickness.

            Now that he thought about it, Reagan never did seem to get along with other women unless they were Merr. And even she and Merr would go through periods where Reagan needed to take a long break from spending time with her.

            “Anyway,” she continued. “I’m pretty picky about girls names I like, do you have any?”

            “Valkyrie?” he offered and Reagan’s brows shot up.

            “That’s badass. Valkyrie Danse. What about a middle name?”

            “Faye?”

            “You’re funny,” she wiggled her charcoal at him. She hadn’t told many people her middle name, he wasn’t sure why, he thought it was beautiful and fit her perfectly, but he was a tad bias. “What about… ugh,” she grunted, brows drawn together in thought.

            “I like Faye,” he told her.

            “Where’d you get Valkyrie from?” she asked and wrote Faye down despite herself.

            “I’m… not sure, I just heard it once and,” he shrugged. Reagan nodded.

            “I think it’s from a mythology, but I can’t really remember. No way to look it up now, though,” she smirked at him and he nodded smiling.

            A loud bang ripped through the air and the next second Reagan had spun around, lips curling as she stood. Danse was startled by her hand ripping from his and he looked past her to see the woman in the doorway, coming from outside. Her eyes glowed enough even he could see them from his distance.

            Serana was here, at Fort Dawnguard.

            “Hello?” she looked around, and then saw Danse, but then she registered Reagan who was snarling, her fingers curling into claws.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot? What plot–?  
> OH! Shit, that plot, okay, fine! I'll get back to the plot....  
> Plot.


	27. One Little Slip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a Vampire in Fort Dawnguard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One Little Slip ~ Chicken Little

**Reagan**

            The bitch smelled like death. She was a vampire, and the moment the doors opened and her scent swept right into Reagan’s nose, she _knew_. But of course, she was beautiful. Raven hair fell to her shoulders and was braided away from her face, her milky skin was flawless, and her curves were nice. The corset she wore held her breasts up, ripe for viewing, and when she took a step her cleavage rocked like water in a glass. The cape she wore fell off her shoulders and flapped with wind that could barely be felt, but remained behind her to accent her form.

            Dressed in black and scarlet, she was a sight, one that Reagan _really_ didn’t care for. Because those glowing eyes and the smell filling her nose was all she needed. How had a _vampire_ gotten this far? All the way to the gate? All the way _inside_ Fort Dawnguard.

            Well, she wasn’t getting any farther.

            Reagan started moving toward her. Unarmed, she knew she’d have to change into her wolf form if she was going to stand a chance, but she’d gotten decent at commanding the Blood and she should be able to do it within–

            Isran stepped through the door and up to the vampire’s side, he was glaring at her, and then at Reagan, before looking past her to Sebastian. Sei had rushed around the table and was now grabbing her arm, trying to get her to look at him. She hadn’t even noticed.

            Reagan turned to look at the taller man and furrowed her brows.

            “–the vampire we were telling you about.”

            “What?”

            “That’s Serana,” he gestured to her. “The one we saved and took back to her family.”

            “What the fuck is she doing here?” the question was more or less actually directed at the vampire, but Reagan didn’t like the idea of speaking to her.

            “I’m here–”

            “The only reason it’s not dead is because of the Elder Scroll on its back,” Isran stated, folding his arms. His gruff words were comforting. At least he seemed as pissed as she was that the vampire was here.

            Danse stepped toward her and Reagan snarled. _Serana_ paid her no mind, and that made the rumbling continue. Sebastian lifted a brow at the vampire, and she spoke. “You probably weren’t expecting to see me again.”

            “What are you doing here?”

            “I’d rather not be here either,” she finally looked at Reagan and all but rolled her eyes back to the man in front of her, “but I needed to talk to you. It’s important, so please just listen before your friends, here, lose their patience.” She then ticked her head back to look at Isran, offering him a toothy smile that might have been her baring her teeth.

            Danse nodded and waved for her to continue.

            Her tone changed and her hands dropped. “It’s… well, it’s about me. And the Elder Scroll that was buried with me.”

            “What about the scroll?” Isran cut in. _Serana_ didn’t look at him.

            “The reason I had it… and why I was down there. It all comes back to my father.” She smiled at Sebastian and shifted her weight, crossing her arms under her tits. “I’m guessing you figured this part out already, but my father’s not exactly a good person. Even by vampire standards. He wasn’t always like that, though. There was… a turn. He stumbled onto this obscure prophecy and just kind of lost himself in it.”

            “What sort of prophecy?” Sei tilted his head, gaze locked on her face.

            “It’s pointless and vague, like all prophecies. The part he latched onto said that vampires would no longer need to fear the sun. That’s what he’s after. He wants to control the sun, have vampires control the world.” She sighed and uncrossed her arms. Of course her perfect breasts stayed front and center. “Anyway, my mother and I didn’t feel like inviting a war with all of Tamriel, so we tried to stop him. That’s why I was sealed away with the Scroll.”

            “You took a huge risk coming here,” Danse commented. He looked back at Reagan and held a palm down at her, the gesture he used to tell her to calm down. She didn’t want to calm down though, she wanted to rip a bloodsucker’s head off.

            “I did. But something about you makes me think I can trust you. I hope I’m not wrong,” _Serana_ ’s brow arched upward in what appeared to be mild desperation.

            “No, you’re right. We just have to convince the others you’re on our side.” Sei looked to Isran who was frowning, and then to Reagan. Her lips twitched.

            “Well, let’s move then. I’m nothing if not persuasive.” It was probably payback for talking like she wasn’t there, but still, it annoyed Reagan when _Serana_ did it.

            “I haven’t heard a thing that justifies not killing this bloodsucking fiend right now,” Isran growled.

 _A man after my own heart_ , Reagan thought and nodded in agreement. “She was locked away so that her father couldn’t get her right? We can just kill her and that solves that, yeah?”

            _Serana_ glared at Reagan who straight up ignored her and folded her arms under her own breasts in a half attempt to mock the vampire.

            “We’re going to need her help,” Rothruin’s voice rang in from behind them.

            Danse and Reagan spun to look at the high elf as he came forward, a sleeping Duncan on his shoulder snoring audibly.

            “Why?” Isran scoffed. “Because of that story about the prophecy? About some vampire trying to put the sun out?”

            “I’m not sure what y’all’s theory on stellar orbit is, but in case you’re unaware, the planet’s a sphere and it revolves around the sun,” Reagan shrugged and then narrowed her eyes at _Serana_. “You can’t just turn it off. And if you did, it would _kill_ the planet.” She paused and then blew her fingers apart in a mock explosion, “ _Science!_ ”

            _Serana_ didn’t seem to like this and folded her arms under her tits again. “It’s called magic, perhaps your science would like to explain that?”

            Rothruin nodded, “I agree. Magic does defy most scientific reason, especially magic involving an Elder Scroll.”

            Reagan glared deeper. “How can you magically block out the sun without killing the planet?”

            “It’s blocking out the sun, not destroying it,” he pointed out and then held his hands up in an orb-like fashion. “Imagine a constant cloud cover over all the planet. Vampires face no bane, yet that which the planet needs still reaches through it.”

            “Sunlight’s needed for photosynthesis,” Reagan shook her head. “I’m pretty sure that if there’s constant cloud cover the plants would die, and then everyone else would, including the vampires.”

            “ _Exactly_ why I want to stop my father,” _Serana_ interjected. Danse crossed his arms and Isran stroked his beard thoughtfully, but his face was masked behind his ever-present glare.

            Rothruin shifted Duncan slightly and nodded. “What it comes down to is we don’t want it to happen, right? It’s bad, so we should help her stop it.”

            “It sounds like she’s a pretty key part and killing her would solve at least part of the issue,” Reagan offered only for Danse to finally chime back in.

            “Reagan, you can’t just kill everyone you don’t like, there are consequences.”

            “I know that,” she replied and tried not to let the hurt show in her voice. She knew he didn’t mean it as a personal stab, especially with Duncan right there. “But we’re talking about a vampire princess whose daddy wants to destroy the world.”

            “And that’s _my_ fault?” _Serana_ asked, her brows drawn together as she looked Reagan over. “Shall we judge you for the crimes of your father?”

            “Good luck, my father’s not a power-crazed vampire,” Reagan retorted and _Serana_ hissed.

            Sebastian stepped between them, hands up, palms in their faces. “Both of you, knock it off.”

            “ _Both_ of us?” _Serana_ seethed, looking something between innocent and offended.

            “Yes,” Danse snapped. “You’re a vampire, we don’t exactly have great things to say about your kind.”

            “My _kind_ ,” _Serana_ nodded. She stayed silent for a while and then shook her head. “But werewolves are okay.”

            “We all have lost someone to leeches,” Reagan pointed out. “No one with the Blood has does anything but _save_ us from your kind.”

            “ _Kind_ ,” _Serana_ whispered again and nodded. “Fine. It seems everyone needs some time to calm down, am I free to go? I don’t think we should discuss things right now while everyone’s so hostile.”

            Reagan snarled again. The vampire had  _no idea_ what hostile looked like.

            “I think that’s an outstanding idea,” Sebastian breathed and narrowed his brows at his girlfriend. Then he turned to the leech and his face eased into a kinder expression she knew to be one of diplomacy. “I’m sure you’re welcome to stay here as long as necessary.”

            “Oh yes, by all means,” Isran hissed. Reagan hoped for a heartbeat he was going to deny the bloodsucker quarter, but he continued. “It can stay for now, but if it so much as lays a finger on anyone here, I’ll hold you responsible. Got it?” he stuck a finger in Danse’s chest.

            The redguard was a large man, but not nearly the size of Sebastian, standing barely to the outlander’s nose. Of course, both Reagan and Sei knew better than to judge a man by his height. The war hammer on Isran’s back wasn’t to be overlooked. Righteous Authority would easily fire before the blunt head of the weapon reached its mark though, and anyone who’d seen the laser rifle in action knew so.

            “You hear me?” Isran addressed _Serana._ “Don’t feel like a guest, because you’re not. You’re a resource. You’re an asset. In the meantime, don’t make me regret my sudden outburst of tolerance and generosity, because if you do, your friend here is going to pay for it.”

            _Serana_ ’s lips curled. “Thank you for your kindness. I’ll remember it the next time I’m feeling hungry.”

            No one thought it was funny, and it made the hair on the back of Reagan’s neck bristle. Rothruin offered Duncan to Danse and turned to _Serana_ when he was relieved of the child. “Allow me, I think I know just the place for you to stay while you’re here, if Isran will permit it.”

            The older man waved his hand for the other two to lead the way, and Rothruin struck up conversation about the difference between her kind of vampire and the common ones running around Skyrim. Reagan watched them disappear around the corner, completely unaware of Danse talking until he put a hand on her shoulder.

            She jerked and stiffened, eyeing him as he frowned at her. “I asked what’s wrong?”

            “With me? Or in general? Because if it’s the first one, I’m fine,” she answered and glared in the general direction of _Serana_. “And if it’s the second, then there _is a vampire in the Fort_.”

            “Serana won’t hurt us,” he started and she narrowed her eyes at him.

            “Excuse me? How well do you know her?”

            He opened his mouth then closed it. “Not well,” he finally said and looked away from her. “I just trust her.”

            “But why? Danse you _always_ have had reasons for trusting people,” she shook her head and pointed to the doorway the others had left through. “That thing is the enemy.”

            “I was the enemy.”

            Her heart hiccupped and Reagan sagged, all the fight and anger in her vanishing.

            “You turned your back on our family and purpose, for me, when I was the enemy.” He spoke slowly and took a deep breath. “You knew there was more to me than just… what I was. How can we judge her for what she is when she obviously wants nothing to do with her father? The  _real_ enemy here?”

            Reagan shifted and then rubbed at her face with a hand while the other rested on her hip. “I’m sorry, Sei, I– they’ve attacked us. We were here, what? A week? And Skaddi never mentioned them. They were new and hostile. What am I supposed to think?”

            “Exactly what you did, and now I’m asking you keep your bias from burning a bridge before it’s built.” He shifted Duncan in his arms and then cupped her jaw. “You’re my world, Reagan, you know that, right?”

            Her cheeks warmed and then she nodded. “I love you, Sei.”

            He kissed her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s go rest. We’ll want to be ready when Vilkas gets back.”

            “I’m sorry.”

            Sebastian stiffened and tilted his head, “What for?”

            “I’m sorry I overreacted, love. I didn’t realize…” she didn’t know how to word what she meant.

            “You never hated synths like the rest of… us,” the last word was whispered. She brushed his hair off of his forehead and smiled, trying to get him to look at her. When he finally did, she pressed up against him, careful to keep from waking Duncan.

            “Your hair is getting so long, definitely not in reg now,” she ran her fingers through it and then gripped the roots, giving it a gentle tug.

            “Careful,” he growled, shifting Duncan again.

            “Aren’t I always?”

            She found his lips with another kiss, this one longer and deeper. After whispering her love for him again, then went toward the bunkroom, preparing for Vilkas’ return.

 

 

            The nord returned close to sunup. Reagan woke to the soft touch of her other love. He was combing his fingers through her hair, kneeling beside her with eyes reflecting the dim lighting. A smile pulled her lips wide and she reached out to cup his face.

            “Hey there,” she whispered and took in a long, slow breath. His scent filled her nose. A campfire, pure and wild, clean like the fires of Skyrim, not the messy, tainted ones in the fallout of the Commonwealth.

            “I need you,” Vilkas groaned and nuzzled into the crook of her neck, kissing her and letting his teeth graze over her sensitive flesh. His hand wandered down her back. She shifted her hips and smiled groggily at the nord.

            “Going to wake up Sei?”

            “In a second,” he growled, his mouth down at the throat of her tunic. He was trying to get to her breasts. She pulled the opening down and he snagged the tit with his lips. As he sucked on it, he helped her out of her clothes silently. He moved his lips to the other when they worked on his clothes.

            “Going to be interesting when I start lactating,” she commented and a groan came from the man at her breast.

            Vilkas gently pushed her down onto the bed and kissed down to her stomach. It hadn’t been but a couple weeks, so no one would know just looking at her. Time felt so strange. Sometimes it seemed an eternity ago that she and Sebastian had been in the Wasteland, and other times it felt like they’d only just gotten to Skyrim yesterday.

            The nord kissed her neck, drawing her thoughts back to what was happening now. She smiled at him in the dark when he settled between her legs, arms tucked under her to hold her close. Vilkas was a big man, so much like Danse, but he was different in just as many ways.

            The way he kissed her, she couldn’t mistake him for the former Paladin. The confidence in his touch was subtle, but Sei had a hesitation about him that the Companion lacked. Like now, as he kissed her, he adjusted his excitement and ran his head through her lower lips. He seemed to be waiting on her, but it was to confirm her want, not because he was worried.

            Reagan shifted her hips, beckoning him in. Vilkas pushed his hips down and filled her. A soft breath left her and she dragged her nails up his back. He growled, smiling at her as he shifted and let her adjust to him. When she was comfortable, he started moving, a slow, hard pace. He went deep, filling her, and withdrew until his head left her damp lips.

            She dragged her nails along his back, and tipped her head into her pillow, arching under him. Vilkas kissed her and squeezed her, growling as he pressed his face into the crook of her neck and between her breasts. He was taking in her scent, she knew. It was different, mating with a wolf. There was a new level to even the simple missionary position they were in. Her legs wrapped around him were steel, keeping him close, but he wasn’t willing to leave her.

            Reagan cupped his face and brought it to hers, kissing him deeply so their tongues could dance. He shifted over her, pulling her into a roll so that he was under her now. At first, she didn’t see why, but then she felt hands on her hips that couldn’t be the Companion’s as he held her face and side.

            She tore away from Vilkas’ lips just long enough to look over her shoulder at Danse in the dark. He ran a hand up her spine, soft and gentle as she situated herself on the nord below her. She grinned and leaned back to urge a kiss.

            The former paladin leaned in and gave it to her.

            Vilkas massaged her breasts as Sebastian ran his hands down her sides and rear. She could feel his bare skin against her, the hair of his chest between her shoulder blades, and the strength of his excitement between her cheeks.

            Reagan pulled away and licked her palm, leaving it soaked so she could grab him and slick him up. He helped her when she bent down onto Vilkas and took a deep breath, preparing for what came next.

            Vilkas already filled her, but now Sebastian prodded her other hole. The nord below her grabbed her ass and spread the cheeks for the other man. Sei’s lower head circled her entrance, spreading the slick, and eased forward before backing off. Reagan tried to focus on relaxing, her face buried in Vilkas’ neck as she squeezed the blanket and pillow in concentration.

            “Hush,” Vilkas hummed and kissed her neck. “Don’t think about it.”

            She took another breath and Danse shifted his hips, getting the head in. The sensation shocked her but it felt good. Reagan bit her lip and whimpered into Vilkas’ shoulder. He grinned and kissed her.

            “Easy, brother,” he whispered and shifted below her.

            Sei slowly sunk deeper and Reagan groaned softly. It was a pleasured sound and she finally relaxed her grip on the bedding. “Jesus, that feels full,” she whispered and lifted her head, looking around the room. No one but they were in the barracks. It was good, she didn’t think they’d stay quiet for much longer.

            Danse started moving first, slowly, easing back and forth while Vilkas simply held her in place, kissing her lips and jaw thoughtfully.

            Reagan shifted her hips and flexed around both of them. Sebastian grunted and started moving a little faster while Vilkas held Reagan’s rear up and bucked his hips. She didn’t have to do much but hold fast and focus on the feeling of both men filling her. It was a sensation she could never get another way.

            The warmth of them around her and the thick scent of sweat and testosterone on them made her pant excitedly. The brutal pace they matched on her made her feel full and worked, but so good and satisfied.

            She came before either of them, but they both knew just when it happened. They felt it as much as heard her groan.

            Vilkas laughed softly and lifted her chin, baring his teeth in a smile. She looked into his silver eyes and saw them flash gold. “You like this, lass? When we both take you?”

            “Yes,” she whimpered and grabbed his arm for support. The solidity of his muscle grounded her and she focused on his face.

            “Tell our Dragonborn what you like, Reagan.”

            “I like when you fuck me,” she said and Sebastian squeezed her ass.

            “Be more specific,” Vilkas prompted and pulled her down hard onto his length.

            She moaned and sucked in a breath, “I like when you fuck my ass.”

            Vilkas grinned and Sebastian continued moving, his pace slapping his hips to her cheeks. She could tell he was getting close and that Vilkas was trying to get him to finish. When he spoke again, he pinched her tit and kissed her throat. “Tell him what you love.”

            “I love,” she started, trying to think. “I love when you both fuck me.” She squeezed around him. “I love when you –take me together. At the same time.” She was getting close again and Vilkas knew it.

            Sei bowed over her, his face right up beside her as she arched back to meet him. He held her shoulder and drove down into her, panting in her ear.

            “I love you, Sebastian,” she moaned and he came.

            Vilkas started bucking up then, working the Dragonborn as much as Reagan as she found her end. Sei hugged her to him, whispering in her ear how much he loved her.

            Vilkas grinned and followed them with his own end. They both praised him and Reagan gave him deep, long kisses, running her fingers through his sweaty, matted hair.

            They found the mattress together and lied holding each other close. Reagan smiled and wrapped her arms around their necks, holding them to her chest. Vilkas found a tit and started suckling on it idly while Reagan and Sebastian laughed gently. Sebastian’s hand rested on Reagan’s stomach and she knew what he was thinking about.

            “I love you, both,” she whispered and kissed the tops of their heads.

            The brisk air wafted over their sweaty bodies and Danse drew a blanket over them. He kissed her neck and Vilkas tucked his face into the crook of her arm and breast. Reagan sighed and held her men, thinking about the baby she was going to have with them, and how things seemed to be going well in this moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about the long wait for a post, I'm in finals week and trying to finish everything up. I do have this planned out for finish and on into the threequel, which I hope you all will continue for.


	28. One Last Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Off to find the Soul Cairn!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One Last Hope  
> ~Hercules

**Danse**

Working with Serana was stressful. Especially, with a pack of werewolves living under the same roof. She didn’t follow orders, and constantly reminded him she was older than everything around them. It wasn’t that she did it on purpose all the time, most of it was her just commenting on architecture or landscape saying something like, “Back in my day it looked like…”

            It was rather entertaining to have such a young looking woman talking as if she were older than dirt. Of course, being a vampire, she could actually be older than dirt and still look youthful.

            Either way, Reagan was suffering from mood swings they attributed to the baby, that ranged from laughing at something Serana said to trying to drive a spike through the other woman’s heart. (Or lack thereof, as his wonderful girlfriend liked to say). It made for long days, short nights, and bad sleep.

            Sebastian couldn’t stop dreaming about the Wasteland either. With how beautiful Skyrim was, he thought he would never miss the dead grass and mutated animals of post-apocalyptic America. But he did. He missed being in the Brotherhood. He missed being a soldier, with a set schedule, with orders, and with a mission that made sense.

            Here, he was a Dragonborn, the leader, the one everyone looked up to, and his mission was to stop vampires from taking over Skyrim. What kind of mission was that? That line specifically had made it into his dreams. Spoken by Elder Maxson, given to him as a direct order.

            At first, it lit up his dreams, and made waking up to do research and find clues exhilarating. But the dream changed every time. It started with him and Maxson on the Command Deck of the Prydwen, talking like old friends and him giving him an honorable mission… then changed to Maxson glaring at him outside of Listening Post Bravo, spitting on him as he gave him a mission that made no sense in the context of their world.

            Danse rubbed his face and ran his fingers through his hair. It was long now, almost as long as Vilkas’. Reagan liked to braid it out of his face, twisting the sides so he didn’t have to keep brushing it away. His beard was also getting very thick, long enough he could lose sight of fingers in it when he combed it. Vilkas was better with a knife than Danse, and shaved his when he could actually catch hold of the strands, but the former Paladin decided if he couldn’t do it himself, he would keep it.

            Reagan told him she liked his beard and was happy to see him growing it out. Her own hair was now fully blonde, the brown washed right out of it, and down past her shoulder blades. She didn’t tie it up often, but would allow Vilkas, Duncan, or Thorbjorn to braid out of the way. Danse enjoyed watching her bustle around the Keep, staying busy when she wasn’t bickering with Serana or trying to convince one of the men to take her on a hunt.

            She complained about getting stir crazy, but he could tell she wasn’t as adamant about going out as she used to be. It seemed her time here had eased her recklessness. It made him feel much better about leaving her when he went on missions. Especially, the latest one.

            Danse dragged his feet as he walked into Dawnguard Keep. Behind him, a Moth Priest and sour-mooded vampire followed. Isran greeted them, but Danse dismissed himself quickly under the guise of needing to relieve himself. Instead, he found Reagan sitting with Thorbjorn, Vilkas, and Wulfjar. The wolves were playing a game that looked way too familiar.

            “Are… you playing BS?” Sebastian stopped at the end of the table and Reagan beamed up at him.

            “Yes, and these honorable nords _suck_ at it.”

            Vilkas snorted and put down his hand. “I don’t understand the appeal of lying.”

            “It’s to get better at it,” Reagan said and then laid a card down on the table. “One King.”

            Thorbjorn started rifling through the small deck he had and shook his head. “If memory serves, you should not have had a king in your hand.”

            “Then call BS.”

            Wulfjar also was looking through his cards. They were handmade from strips of bark and were probably burned with hand-drawn images of playing cards from back in the Wasteland. Danse peeked over Reagan’s shoulder to see her hand. He was right. They appeared to be Reagan’s attempt at art as well. The numbers were nice enough though.

            “Well, I have–”

            “Hey, no teamwork, that’s cheating. You shouldn’t even be talking about the cards if you’re going to say anything,” Reagan cut off the youngest nord. Wulfjar’s nose wrinkled and he eyed his cards suspiciously.

            Vilkas finally huffed and said, “BS.” Then he turned her card over and all four men leaned in to see the king. “What?”

            “How is that possible?” Thorbjorn shuffled through his cards and Danse leaned back with a grin.

            “I don’t always lie, and sometimes I put down cards that aren’t what I say they are, when I have the right card in my hand,” she fanned herself with a single card and then waved for Vilkas to pick up the King he’d flipped. He took the card and Reagan turned around to look up at the exhausted man behind her. “You okay? You look like you just lost a fight with a radroach.”

            Danse snorted at that and straddled the bench beside her, resting his head on her shoulder as she turned back to the game. “Just tired. It was a long trip. We brought back the Moth Priest.”

            “I still can’t get over that name,” she said and rested her cheek on his head. He could imagine her smile. “Like he worships bugs or something…”

            Vilkas chuckled and shook his head. “You know that’s not remotely right.”

            “I know, I know, don’t need the speech again.” She tilted her head to look at Danse’s face. “What the next step?”

            “He has to read the Elder Scroll, and then we go from there.”

            “Don’t we have two?” Thorbjorn raised his brows.

            “Yeah,” Sebastian nodded. “The one Skaddi used to defeat Alduin, and Serana’s.”

            “That all of them?” Wulfjar tilted his head.

            Danse straightened up, “I hope so.”

 

 

            “There is another scroll,” Dexion, the Moth Priest, breathed and touched his head. “It speaks of the potency of ancient blood.”

            Sebastian rubbed his temples. “Where do we find it?”

            “I cannot tell you,” the old man sighed. His complexion had paled so his dark skin was nearly white. “I must rest now. The reading has made me weary.”

            Suddenly feeling bad for his indifference, Danse offered an arm to help him to his bed. “Here, I’ll help you.”

            “Thank you, boy, but I can manage.”

            “I’ll take him,” Isran came forward and gestured to Serana. “Talk to her, see if you two can figure out our next move.”

            “Yes, sir.” Danse waited until they were gone to turn to the vampire.

            “Hey,” she said and crossed her arms. Reagan snorted and tilted her head.

            “Got any ideas?” the blonde asked the vampire. No mean name from his girl? Danse smiled slightly but didn’t point it out in case Reagan decided to come up with something extra rude.

            “As a matter of fact, I do,” Serana said and gestured to Danse. “He and I are going to find my mother, Valerica. She’ll definitely know where it is, and if we’re lucky, she actually has it herself.”

            Thorbjorn perked at this, silver eyes narrowing, “I thought you didn’t know where she was?”

            “The last time I saw her, she said that she’d go somewhere safe… somewhere that my father would never search. Other than that, she wouldn’t tell me anything.”

            “But you think you can find her?” Reagan lifted a brow.

            “The way she said it, ‘someplace he would never search.’ It was cryptic, yet she called attention to it.”

            “Sounds like she was being cautious,” Danse said. Reagan snorted, but everyone else was quiet.

            “Maybe,” Serana said. “What I can’t figure out is why she said it that way. Besides, I can’t imagine a single place my father would avoid looking. And he’s had all this time, too.”

            Wulfjar shrugged, “Hiding with the Dawnguard?”

            Serana looked like she tried to stifle a laugh. “They’d be even less welcoming to her than they’ve been to me. It would have been a bloodbath. And since the Dawnguard is still around, that must not have happened.”

            “Maybe she didn’t win the fight,” Reagan supplied, hands out in a ‘I’m just saying’ way.

            Thorbjorn cut in before Serana could respond to her, “Sealed away like you were?”

            Danse didn’t hear her reply, instead, he was thinking about what she said. A place her father wouldn’t search? The brief meeting with the vampire had given Danse a lasting impression and the only place he wouldn’t search was under his own nose. His arrogance would likely keep him from suspecting someone was capable of hiding anywhere close to him. “In the Castle,” Sebastian said, cutting off Serana.

            “Why would she hide so near?” Wulfjar wrinkled his nose, but Serana shook her head.

            “No, that almost makes sense! There’s a courtyard in the castle. I used to help her tend a garden there. All of the ingredients for our potions came from there. She used to say that my father couldn’t stand the place. Too… peaceful.”

            Reagan laughed, “And you think he hasn’t torn the place to shreds? That’s probably the first place he looked for her.”

            “My mother’s not stupid,” Serana seethed. Reagan stood straighter, bristling at the tone. “We’re not going to just walk in and find her, it’s going to be more complicated than that.”

            “Or she could be dead and your father just told you she wasn’t,” the blonde woman started. Danse lifted a hand and she stopped, taking a step back. Serana looked like she was going to reply, but thought better of it and turned back to Danse.

            “It’s worth a look, don’t you think?” Serana said hopefully.

            “Of course, but they aren’t going to let us use the front door.”

            “True, but I know a way we can get to the courtyard without arousing suspicion,” she grinned.

            “Do share,” Thorbjorn waved for her to continue when she stopped.

            “There’s an unused inlet on the northern side of the island that was used by the previous owners to bring supplies into the castle,” she started.

            “Someone owned it before the vampires?” Wulfjar asked, brows up.

            “Yes,” she brushed over the reaction. “An old escape tunnel from the castle exits there. I think that’s our way in,” she finished, eyes locked on Danse.

            “All right, let’s get packed up,” he looked at the team. “I want all of us going,” he looked at Reagan. “I have a feeling we’ll need the support in case… shit hits the fan.”

            Reagan beamed. “We’re going on an adventure!” She skipped out of the room to prepare a bag.

 

 

            Having backup turned out to be a great idea, because the castle literally came alive. The gargoyles were still as stone one moment and the next random ones would wake and attack. It was impossible for them to tell the difference between the ones who would wake and those who wouldn’t. Even Serana couldn’t figure it out.

            So the wolves worked on taking down the gargoyles with the exception of Reagan who was carrying medical supplies and spare weapons. She’d made many pack mule jokes on the way, but Rothruin had assisted her with some strength potions that made the packs practically weightless to her.

            The elf kept close to her, making sure nothing that got past her pack touched her, and while they were fighting, Serana and Danse snuck around, checking collapsed hallways and taking down skeletons that had been raised as practice by training vampires and forgotten about.

            When they finally reached the courtyard, it was not what Danse was expecting, and based on her reaction, Serana was just as surprised. Everything had died a long time ago. Serana spoke to herself as they spread out and looked at the details. Reagan and Danse migrated to the sundial in the center of the space with the moon phases on it.

            “That’s pretty,” Reagan complimented and gestured to the mass of golden metal. “A bit gaudy, but pretty.”

            Danse smirked and then noticed some of the phases were missing. “Serana, what do you think happened to this?”

            The vampire came over and then beamed. “That’s got to be it. We need to find the missing pieces.”

            Danse turned to give the order, but everyone already started picking through the dead foliage and turned over fallen rocks. Vilkas found the first one and placed it in the correct slot. Then Rothruin pointed out a glint by the wall and Serana grabbed it. The last one Wulfjar grabbed out of a small pool of water. He handed it to Thorbjorn as he passed and the Alpha put it in its place.

            Once the empty spaces were filled the ground gave a quake and the sundial turned. As it turned the blocks around it started to sink, creating a spiraling staircase that led down into the ground.

            “Very clever, mother. Very clever.”

            “Clever girl,” Reagan breathed and Danse smirked.

            “I’ve never been in those tunnels before, but I’d bet they run right under the courtyard and into the tower ruins,” Serana didn’t wait for them and started down into the ground. “We’re getting closer, let’s go.”

            The tunnel was short and came right to a dead end. Before anyone could say a thing, Danse noticed a pull chain hanging on the wall and grabbed the ring. He looked to Serana who nodded, then pulled.

            The dead-end opened, showing a kitchen with an old burnt out fire and food sitting out. It also looked like blood stained the table.

            “I’ve never even seen this part of the castle before. Be careful. I don’t know what might be around,” Serana whispered and everyone nodded silently.

            The next room opened up to a dining area filled with skeletons. They were easy enough to bring down, easier than the gargoyles that came after. Hallways. Skeletons. Gargoyles. Oh my.

            Danse was about to ask Serana if she thought this was productive until they circled up a tall staircase and came to a door that opened to a room lit from nowhere with dim blue light. The center drew the attention of the whole party with a strange circular makeup of stone wide enough for three men to lay down head to toe to mark its diameter. Danse’s lips parted in shock and Serana stepped up to the edge, her glowing eyes wide.

            “I’m not sure about this circle, but it’s obviously… something.” She spun around and pointed at various points in the room. “Take a look around. There has to be something here that tells us where she’s gone.”

            Everyone split up, but Danse noticed Reagan took a seat in a chair and rubbed at her head. He went to her, kneeling at her side as she began rifling through one of their packs.

            “I’m fine,” she said before he could ask. “Just tired, and cranky. Sick of these statues just jumping out at me for no reason,” she hissed through bared teeth and grabbed a water skin.

            Danse brushed her hair from her face and smiled at her. “I’m happy you’re with me. I know this mission would have been… unbearable without you.”

            She snorted at him and waved a hand. “Don’t talk like that, I’ll think you’re flirting.”

            “Maybe I thought I’d give it a shot,” he took her hand and rubbed his thumb over the back. “It working at all?”

            “Sir, all you gotta say is ‘let’s bang’ and you have me,” she smirked at him and he chuckled, leaning in to kiss her. Her smile widened and then she sipped at the water. “I want this headache to go away.”

            “It will.” He moved his kiss to her temple and looked around the room. Vilkas was flipping through a book while Wulfjar and Thorbjorn sorted loose pages, and Rothruin was consulting the circle with Serana.

            “What exactly are we looking for?” the elf was asking.

            “My mother was meticulous about her research. If we can find her notes, there might be some hints in there,” she answered and Thorbjorn lifted papers.

            “Normal notes… or something else?”

            “I’m not sure. I had no idea this place even existed. She had an alchemy setup in her drawing room, but nothing that even comes close to what’s here.”

            “Do you at least know what she researched?” Wulfjar tried and dropped his stack onto the desk.

            “Looking at the equipment and materials, it looks like she was trying to advance her necromancy,” Serana pursed her lips and Reagan snarled.

            “Great,” the blonde woman sighed and reclined in her seat so she could comfortably cross her strong legs. “To what end?”

            “I don’t know. Certainly not longevity. Kind of a waste of time for a vampire,” Serana mused, ignoring the emotive response from Reagan and focusing on the question. “Anyway, the only notes I remember her _ever_ keeping was a small journal. We should see if we can dig it up.”

            “This?” Vilkas grabbed a book off of a bookshelf and offered it over to Serana.

            “Yes!” she snagged it from his grasp and leafed through the pages. “The Soul Cairn….”

            “The _Soul Cairn?_ ” Rothruin breathed and rushed to her side to look over her shoulder at the notes.

            “What’s that? I’ve not heard of it,” Thorbjorn came forward and Danse followed.

            “I only know what she told me–” Serana started, but Rothruin was already talking.

            “A mere theory about soul gems. That the souls inside of them don’t just vanish when the gem is used, but they end up in a specific place: the Soul Cairn,” the elf beamed as he looked at the rings in the ground. “She found a way in.”

            “Why did she care about the Soul Cairn though?” Wulfjar frowned and crossed his arms. “Why care where the souls go?”

            “The Soul Cairn is thought to be home to very powerful beings. Necromancers send them souls, and receive powers beyond their own in return,” Serana explained. “My mother spent a lot of time trying to contact them directly, to travel to the Soul Cairn itself.”

            “We’ll follow her there then,” Danse said and looked at the rings. “How do you open it?”

            Rothruin wrinkled his nose, “The notes give us the formula, but it relies on her mother’s blood.”

            “Well,” Reagan gestured to Serana vaguely, “Looks like you’re donating.”

            Serana looked like she was about to object and then she stopped, nodded, and closed her mouth, “Hmm, maybe. We’d better hope that’s good enough. Mistakes with these kinds of portals can be… gruesome.”

            “Do portal travel often?” Reagan raised an eyebrow and the vampire ignored her.

            “We need to get the ingredients, she would have had plenty around for quick access,” Serana directed and the group split up again.

            Reagan grabbed Danse’s arm and he turned to her. “What is it?”

            “We all aren’t going in, are we?” she said softly and Danse knew just what was on her mind.

            There was no way Reagan was going into a place inhabited by spent souls. Not while she carried their child. And if she wasn’t going, others would remain with her, at least to guard her and keep her company while whoever went in did. And then there was the question of how long it would take, how long it would be before they came back. How time worked in and out of the Cairn.

            “No, you’re not going, Reagan.” He tried not to let her expression get to him. She would fight to come, but they both knew she couldn’t. “Everyone here will agree to that.”

            “He’s right, lass,” Vilkas’ voice came from her other side and they both looked at the dark nord. “You’re staying here, as am I.” He laced his fingers through hers and she opened her mouth, but immediately closed it.

            “Fine,” she looked at Danse and took a deep breath. “But send Rothruin. Don’t go, Danse.”

            “He has to,” Serana came up and looked Danse over. “He’s the Dragonborn. If something happens, he’s the only one who can read an Elder Scroll.”

            “Why did we need the Moth Priest then?” Reagan glared, confused.

            “Because reading a Scroll is dangerous and it could kill him, we don’t want to risk that unless we have to,” Serana said it like it was obvious and Danse could tell Reagan was about to lunge.

            “Hey,” he took her shoulders and made her look him in the eye. “I will come back. I will be fine. And I will have the Elder Scroll for the Moth Priest to read.”

            “I have all the ingredients!” Rothruin called out, drawing all eyes. “Time to see the Soul Cairn.”

            Serana turned and took a deep breath. “Are you ready to go? I’m not entirely sure what this thing is going to do when I add my blood,” she glanced at Danse. “You and I have to go. I don’t think many others should, if anyone.”

            While the former Brotherhood of Steel soldier thought about what he was about to do, Serana strode up the stairs and bit into her wrist. The blood poured for a moment, joining with the other ingredients. Purple life illuminated the vessel and then the rings began moving.

            “She did it,” Serana breathed, staring into the light. “She created a portal to the Soul Cairn.”

            “Incredible,” Rothruin leaned to get a better look into it.

            The rings broke and rose, lifting up to build the perfect stairwell from the vessel to the center of the mystical portal. Danse circled around to join the elf and vampire. Reagan stayed back with the wolves.

            “Well,” he looked between them. “Who first?”

            “I will,” Rothruin smiled wide. “I am also the most expendable if something were to go wrong.”

            “Don’t think like that,” Reagan called out to him.

            “It’s true,” he raised his hands to stop the protest. “Now,” he focused on the steps that would take him down into the Cairn. Without another word, he started forward.

            He reached the purple light, licking like fire at the air, far too thick to be a simple glow, and when he stepped into it he leaped back and called out in pain as if he’d been burned. Serana grabbed Danse’s arm as he tried to rush forward, but the wolves got him and pulled him from the light.

            The ebony armor around his legs and feet was hissing and smoldering. Rothruin yelped at the pain and the others tore the burning metal off of him.

            “Are you alright?” Serana called and Danse fought every instinct he had to go to the man.

            “I’m fine, but… it seems the Cairn attempted to… feast on me,” he sighed. “I should have expected it.”

            “Yes, it makes sense,” Serana breathed and hung her head.

            “I am confused,” Danse turned to look between them. “I don’t understand how the… _Cairn_ can try to _eat_ someone.”

            “My soul,” Rothruin said. “It wants souls. To enter, you must be devoid of one. Like a vampire,” he pointed to Serana and she nodded.

            All at once, Danse felt a crushing weight on his shoulders. He looked down at the Cairn and knew that in the moment he could learn just what he was. He could prove or discredit everything that Maxson said about synths. He could prove to himself that he is alive and that the baby he made with Reagan wasn’t going to be less because of his lack of soul. Because of his lack of humanity.

            He is alive. He is a person.

            He has a soul. And now he could prove it.

            “There are two ways we can get you in,” Serana was saying, drawing back the former Paladin from his thoughts. “You can become a vampire. Or, we could just ‘pay the toll’ another way. It wants a soul, so we give it a soul. Yours.”

            “That’ll kill him,” Vilkas snarled before anyone else, but Reagan bristled at his words and fully understanding what the vampire said.

            “My mother taught me a trick or two,” Serana lifted her hands to calm the others. “I could partially soul trap you, and offer that gem to the Ideal Masters in the Soul Cairn. It might be enough to satisfy them.” Then she turned to Danse more directly so that he understood what she was saying. “It would make you a bit weaker when we travel through the Soul Cairn, but we might be able to fix that once we’re inside. Maybe.”

            He tried not to swallow audibly. “All right. Do it. Soul trap me.”

            “Are you sure?” she seemed surprised that he would decide so quickly. “I’m willing to do it, but you need to think it through,” she glanced at Reagan and Danse did the same.

            She nodded once and he knew she had the same thought as him: don’t become a vampire.

            “You’ll remain mortal, but you’ll find yourself weakened within the Soul Cairn,” Serana warned him again.

            “I understand. I’m ready,” he said, standing straighter.

            “I know this is difficult for you,” she said softer as she came closer. “I hope you trust me.”

            “I do.”

            “Thank you.”

            “Let’s not waste any more time then,” she shifted and lifted her hands. Magic lit them up. “I promise to make this as painless as possible. Hold still.”

            Danse stiffened and immediately tried to relax. He didn’t know which was best for this.

            And then it was happening. Serana cast the spell, and Danse felt his entire being lighten like he was falling from a vertibird in a suit of power armor. He was within himself, encased and falling, knowing he would survive.

            No worry entered his mind, even as he felt a split second of pain and his vision sparked purple.

            When he blinked, it was over, and Serana was picking up a gem from the nearby table. Within it was a swirling cloud of white.

            The vampire gaped at the dark gem and tilted her head. “I’ve… never seen a filled soul gem look like that.”


	29. Goodbye May Seem Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Portal Time!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodbye May Seem Forever ~ Fox and the Hound

**Reagan**

            “What’s that mean?” Reagan asked and came closer to look at the soul gem.

            “I…” _Serana_ frowned and tilted the gem.

            “Normally black soul gems with human souls are filled with a black essence,” Rothruin stated and reached for the blackish-purple crystal. _Serana_ handed it over and he looked at it closer, holding it to a light. “Interesting.”

            “What does it mean? About me?” Sebastian asked hesitantly. Reagan laced her fingers with his and squeezed comfortingly. He glanced at her briefly before locking his creamy brown gaze on the high elf.

            “There’s no way for me to know without… research,” Rothruin said and turned around to address them. “If you give me permission, I would like to offer my protection of this soul gem until the time you should need it back. In that time, I will learn anything and everything I can that will not threaten your life.”

            Danse gulped but nodded, “I trust you with it, Rothruin.”

            “Thank you,” the high elf bowed his head and all but scurried off to a nearby bookshelf to get started.

            Reagan turned Danse around and looked up at him with a smile. “No worries, it’s probably a good sign. It’s white, right? Pure?” She offered up the only explanation she had and it seemed to ease the tension in his shoulders. Vilkas came up then and grabbed his shoulder, his lips spread wide in a grin.

            “All will be well, brother, and we will be here when you return.”

            “Do we know how long that will be?” Reagan asked and then glanced at _Serana_ and then Rothruin.

            “There is no way to know,” Rothruin sighed from his place in the books. “Time could move differently there. A minute here could be a second there, or vice versa. The Cairn is another plane.”

            Reagan waved him off before he added any more gray hairs to Danse’s sideburns. She took the former Paladin’s face in her hands and pulled him into a kiss. He lingered there like he was worried it would be their last. His hands came to her waist and his thumbs rubbed circles at her hips. She knew he was thinking about the baby, and she knew he was worried that he wouldn’t come back.

            He pulled away and knelt so his face was in her stomach. Sebastian whispered an ‘I love you’ to the baby that couldn’t hear him, and then kissed her through her shirt. When he stood back up, he turned to Vilkas and hooked an arm around his neck and pulled him in close so he could kiss him as well. Vilkas hummed at the contact.

            The boys pulled Reagan into an embrace and they held each other for a long moment. Sebastian leaned over to Vilkas and said softly, “Take care of them for me, brother.”

            “I shall,” the nord swore.

            Reagan kissed Danse’s cheek and then he stepped away, looking to _Serana_. “Ready?”

            “Yes,” she nodded, nothing sarcastic coming with it.

            Vilkas circled an arm around Reagan’s waist and held her as the Dragonborn and the vampire prepared to go into the Soul Cairn. Rothruin gave them a pack of supplies he thought would be helpful –apparently, that’s what he’d actually been up to. Thorbjorn and Wulfjar each gave Danse a respectful bow of departure and took their places behind Reagan and Vilkas.

            “Don’t wait for us too long,” Danse said and looked at Reagan meaningfully. “The chances of this going quickly are… low.”

            “I agree,” Rothruin nodded.

            “Go back to the Fort and help them with whatever they need until I come back,” he ordered, the familiar tone making Reagan stand at attention, more receptive of the words. “And if I don’t come back, find a way to stop Harkon.”

            “Yes, sir,” she said out of reflex and Vilkas squeezed her. But the former Paladin smiled, seeming to like the familiarity of the interaction.

            And then, just like that, he was gone. Sebastian and _Serana_ walked down the steps into the portal and vanished.

            The portal remained open and Rothruin spent some time bustling around it to get as much information as he could before it closed. But it didn’t. For several hours, Reagan, Vilkas, Wulfjar, and Thorbjorn watched the high elf try several experiments on the portal, tossing things into it and even going as far as to touch it to record exactly what happened to him in detail.

            Thorbjorn was the one to call time, standing up and clapping his hands together to wake Wulfjar and grab everyone else’s attention. “All right, it’s time to go back to the Fort.”

            Reagan wanted to argue, to stay a little while longer, but she knew that was going to be a futile fight and nodded, “Lead the way, Rex.”

            He made a snort-laugh noise and passed Wulfjar close enough to rustle the young man’s hair. “Come on, grab anything of value, we’re going to stop at Solitude on the way back.”

            “Skaddi had a home there, right?” Reagan asked and Vilkas winced.

            “Aye, and the housecarl’s been killed.” He rummaged through their bag to find the enchanted map and showed her. “Ach,” he made a disgusted sound, “they moved her body to the Hall of the Dead.”

            “Isn’t… that good?” Reagan asked and lifted a brow.

            “That means the guards have searched the house. With the Dragonborn gone and the housecarl dead… there’s no telling what will happen to the property,” Thorbjorn supplied. “We should hurry.”

            “Let’s get a move on then.”

            They packed up their bags and loaded up anything from the lab that they thought could be sold or used. Then they left, and Reagan couldn’t swallow the lump in her throat or rid herself of the pit in her stomach until Danse came back to her.

 

 

            Solitude felt different this time around. She didn’t feel like the name paralleled her own feelings. Instead, she was with her family –most of it– and was trying to get a comfortable place to spend the night.

            Vilkas and Rothruin knew Skaddi, so they had more weight when speaking to regain her property, but without a housecarl, there was little they could do unless they bought it.

            Thorbjorn tried his luck with haggling the price down, but the steward wasn’t having it. None of them had the gold to buy one of the finest estates in the city, _so_ they broke into it and got anything and everything of value they could.

            Skaddi told Reagan it was all hers now, and she’d be damned if she was going to let the city take what her friend worked for.

            Shortly after they loaded their already full packs, they made their way to the market, and Thorbjorn spoke to a fence he knew to get the more valuable stolen items away in case the guards had taken an inventory and noticed what was missing.

            While they browsed, Reagan’s thoughts drifted back to the castle, the open portal, and how they’d just left Danse. Sure he’d said to, but she couldn’t help but feel like they should have waited longer. Especially, since they weren’t going straight to the Fort.

            Her heart had started beating faster and she was near the point of hyperventilating when a hand took her shoulder. Expecting it to be one of the wolves, she turned and said, “I’m okay–” and met sea green eyes. Very, very high up blue-green eyes. The man was 6’5” at least, putting him at about Thorbjorn’s height, maybe a little shorter, but nowhere near as tall as the six feet nine inches that Wulfjar claimed. It was something she noticed about nords: they were all very tall, normally taller than she and Danse, and having spent most of their lives in good health, they were among the taller population of the Wasteland.

            “You do not look well,” the man was saying, his voice deeper than the ocean. It growled with a natural gravely edge, and she tried not to think about it too much.

            “I’m just going through a lot right now….” She stepped away from him and raised an eyebrow. “And you are…?”

            Before he could speak Thorbjorn appeared and bowed his head low, grabbing Reagan’s shoulder to pull her down into a bow as well. “The High King of Skyrim, Ulfric Stormcloak,” her Alpha said, without looking up at the blonde nord before him.

            Reagan couldn’t take her eyes off him and watched as a smirk played on his lips, like he was pleased to be recognized. But he waved to them, “Please, I am still a man.”

            Reagan tried to remember everything she’d been told about Ulfric Stormcloak and decided she didn’t like him. Skaddi had called him the ‘true’ High King, but since they’d come to the land they’d been faced with taxes –that all seemed a bit racist– and the Free Kingdom of Skyrim was suffering without trade to whomever the hell they beat. It was obvious in the markets, and only the fences were doing well, smuggling goods in and out of Skyrim.

            “So, you’re the man Skaddi helped become king?”

            Ulfric seemed surprised at the name coming up but in a blink had his features composed and he nodded. “Aye, we worked hard to secure Skyrim and to free her people. I’m sure the stories have traveled far and have grown from the truth.”

            “Well, hearing it from the horse’s mouth, I like to think I know what’s up,” she rolled her shoulders and Thorbjorn nudged her with his elbow. Ulfric’s brows drew together and she quickly added, “I know Skaddi, is what I meant. She talked about you a bit. She really seemed to believe in your cause.”

            This time the High King beamed. “You know the Dragonborn! Where has she gone? I’ve my men looking for her, but it seems she’s vanished without a trace.”

            “She’s… away,” Reagan frowned. “Something about the Daedra.”

            Ulfric’s brows screwed together and Thorbjorn cut in, “If I may, your Majesty. My companion is not from Skyrim. The deserts of Hammerfell have brutalized her manners and our sister no longer knows the appropriate way to speak to her kin, especially our king.”

            Ulfric nodded and gestured to Reagan, “Where were you born? In Skyrim? Or away from your homeland?”

            “Away, your Majesty,” she said, finally catching the hint from Thorbjorn that Ulfric wasn’t going to be the sort of leader she got to be chill with. “I’ve only just come home,” she hesitated on the last word.

            Ulfric turned to Thorbjorn, “Have you heard news of a new Dragonborn? A man, nord, dark of hair.”

            “Heard of him? Aye. Met him even. Taking the fight to the vampires, that one is.”

            “As he should,” Ulfric lifted his chin. “They’re a menace. I’ve lost platoons to them already. Not a great way to start a new rule.” He then smiled like a thought occurred to him. “I was good friends with Skaddi, and took counsel from her as well as gave advice when she sought it. If you happen on the new _Dovahkiin_ before I get a summons to him, do invite him to Solitude to speak with me.”

            “Of course, your Majesty,” Thorbjorn bowed his head and Reagan decided it best to copy. Without much more, the king was gone with a flurry of guards that seemed to appear out of the stone to follow him. Reagan had wondered how the king got to go to the market alone, but it seemed he didn’t.

            “Never seen your nose so brown, Rex,” Reagan grinned and Thorbjorn snorted.

            “You would have gotten yourself into trouble, talking to him like that. He may seem nice, but you were on your way to the dungeons.” Thorbjorn wrapped his arm around her shoulder and guided her away.

            Wulfjar appeared, “What did you speak to the king about?”

            “Stuff,” Reagan grinned and the nord’s brows drew together in confusion.

            “Mostly the Dragonborns,” Thorbjorn sighed and released Reagan. Rothruin and Vilkas met them at the designated corner, and they all stopped to go over what they’d gotten for their gear.

            “Should have asked him to get us into the house,” Wulfjar huffed and Reagan realized that was a good idea and wished she’d thought of it.

            “Is it too late to go ask him for help?”

            “Good luck getting an audience with him. He was on his evening stroll in the market when he saw you in his way. You wouldn’t know too move out of the way, and I’m pretty sure he was going to order you move until you started talking to him,” Thorbjorn ran a hand through his blonde locks and shrugged his shoulders. “You’re lucky his guards didn’t move you.”

            Wulfjar nodded, “They wouldn’t have done it gently.”

            “Well then,” Reagan crossed her arms. “What now? Get a room or a move on?”

            “It would be best if we kept moving. We attempted legal entry into a home that has since been broken into,” Thorbjorn lifted a brow at her. “Who do you think they’ll look for first?”

            “Ah, good point.”

            They left the city and chartered a cart to Markarth where they knew they could stay in the unguarded home Skaddi had there, as well as Thorbjorn’s property. Rothruin, Thorbjorn, and Wulfjar went to the Goldenhilt estate while Reagan and Vilkas found Skaddi’s property and got inside.

            Everything was dark and dusty, and Vilkas was hesitant to light any of the braziers incase the cobwebs caught fire and burned the furnishings within the stone home. But nothing that shouldn’t lit up, and the two went through what was left in the home for anyone who entered.

            “Weird, no windows…”

            “Most Markarth homes don’t have them. Thorbjorn’s home is… expensive.”

            Reagan grinned at that and picked up a dusty book from the shelf. It was tucked between others, but she noticed a symbol on it that looked like a dragon. She turned the black book over in her hands, but it only had the silver dragon on the front and side, no other indicator of what was within it. She opened it up and flipped through the many pages, stopping when she hit an interestingly formatted section:

            _“When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world_

_When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped_

_When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles_

_When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls_

_When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding_

_The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn.”_

            Reagan frowned and looked up at Vilkas as he went through what food had been stored here. “Hey, Skaddi killed the World-Eater right? I remember her saying something about it.”

            “Alduin, a dragon,” he nodded and stood up, straightening his back as he wiped dust from his hands. “I was with her when she fought him at the Throat of the World, but neither I nor Argis could accompany her to Sovngarde.”

            “So, she was the _last_ Dragonborn?” Reagan looked at the page and frowned.

            Vilkas seemed to follow her train of thought and also frowned. “Aye, she was said to be the last…”

            “So… how can Danse be a Dragonborn?”

            They both looked at the book and frowned, silence falling between them. And finally, Vilkas shrugged his shoulders. “I do not know.”

 

 

            Wulfjar brought food down from the Goldenhilt estate once Oriella finished cooking. It was meat, looked like steak but it didn’t taste like beef, and potatoes. The young wolf hung around long enough to snoop around the previous Dragonborn’s estate before saying he was going to check in with the guard and make sure no one came looking at the property.

            Once they were alone again, Reagan tried to think of conversation with Vilkas. The silence wasn’t awkward, but she felt like they needed to talk about… something. Anything.

            “You’re worried,” Vilkas said softly and Reagan blinked, looking up at him.

            “Yeah,” she nodded and took a deep breath. “We… didn’t go into that expecting him to… leave.”

            “He’ll come back.” The dark nord knelt in front of her and took her hands in his. She was sitting in front of the fireplace, trying to get lost of the flames. Now she looked into the silvery eyes of the man before her. “Let me help,” he kissed her knuckles, “what do you need?”

            “I’m not really sure,” she said hesitantly. “Would you go hunting with me?”

            “Of course,” he smiled and stood, helping her up. “Using the blood?”

            “Yeah, I think that would… make for a good release of pent-up energy,” she smiled.

            And it was, all the way up to Vilkas’ massive black beast taking her on the pebbly bank of a river. Their howls echoing through the night.


	30. Always Know Where You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soul Cairn!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always Know Where You Are ~Treasure Planet

**Danse**

            The steps to the Soul Cairn were floating but held fast under his weight like they had a stone foundation. As he looked out over the landscape, he got an odd sense of familiarity. It was a wasteland, compared to Skyrim, and looked as if it were covered in a layer of ash.

            Towers, old and broken, towered over the relatively flat landscape, and through the haze he thought he saw a wall in the far distance.

            “Wow,” was all Serana could manage.

            “Yeah,” Danse agreed and descended into the wasteland.

            Curiosity immediately took both of them as they stepped off the landing at the base of the staircase and onto the soft ground. Danse knelt beside a strange looking husk like plant, running his fingers over the rim of the tallest ring. It chipped and flaked like it was brittle, and any more pressure would shatter it.

            Serana was looking at the dead bushes. They were skeletal, thickly gnarled, and didn’t look as if they’d ever held leaves or needles. “I’d heard stories about the Soul Cairn, but never thought I’d see it myself. So far it’s… about what I imagined.”

            Danse grunted and looked up to see a person. But rather than looking like him or Serana, the man was faded, made of blue tones, and transparent so that Sebastian could see right through him. The man didn’t pay him any regard, and simply stood where he was, watching a particular piece of the wall in front of him.

            Danse’s brows pulled together and he glanced around to find Serana had moved to a large crack in the ground nearby, off the path. The fissure looked as if it emitted steam, but when he got close, it felt colder.

            “They’re souls,” the vampire explained without looking at him. “Souls that have been here too long… they’re nothing now.”

            Sebastian frowned and watched her pull out a soul gem and hold it near the fissure. Part of the pale smoke drifted to the crystal, and seemed the fall right into it. Black clouds filled the gem and Serana straightened up to show him.

            “That’s what your soul should have looked like.”

            He swallowed hard, wondering why his had been different.

            A ghostly figure running by caught his attention, and he looked at a woman armed with a bow. She was muttering something under her breath, but he only heard her when she passed him, “…return to the frontline Alessian headquarters at once –lives are hanging in the balance!”

            Serana wrinkled her nose. “Alessian? Isn’t that… the Empire?”

            Danse shrugged. “I have no idea.”

            “She doesn’t know how long she’s been here,” Serana said suddenly and Danse stiffened.

            “Maybe she’s only lost her mind. I’ve seen it in wastelands like this. It doesn’t take much time.”

            They both decided to move on from there. The wall became clearer as they drew closer, allowing them to find a space in the high walls. It was still a ways off when something struck Danse in the back, hard, and he went tumbling to the ground.

            Serana had warned him of how weak he’d be here, but he didn’t consider it until now. He could hear the vampire attacking something, but he could barely move. It took all of his effort to put his hands under him and get his face out of the dust.

            And then a strong arm grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him up. Serana straightened him up and dusted him off. “I’m sorry, I should have saw them coming,” she apologized and frowned. “I barely got a spell out after it hit you, another one got me from behind as well,” she gestured to the shattered skeletons on the path behind him. “Are you okay?”

            “I’ll be fine, I just need a rest,” he looked for somewhere to sit and ended up on a fallen tree. “How long have we been here?”

            Serana pursed her lips and rolled her shoulders. “I’d say half a day at the most.”

            That felt about right for the distance they traveled. Danse nodded and took a couple deep breaths to steady himself before standing. “Let’s get moving.”

            This time they were more aware of their surroundings and made it to the wall without incident. Beyond it was… more Soul Cairn and Danse let out a defeated sigh. Down the path a soul was leaning against a wall, looking sad and defeated, repeating the same words over and over.

            “I live in a dark world, where no light shines through.”

            The depressing atmosphere grew with every step he took. It grew increasingly difficult for him to keep his attention forward, and not drift off the path into the wasteland. Serana didn’t seem to have the same focus problems, and would redirect him, her patience endless.

            But they encountered more skeletons and the fight had Danse sweating and breathless. They found a raised platform of black bricks and stopped.

            Trying to get control of his body, Danse focused on his breathing. Serana knelt in front of him. “Tell me about where you came from,” she said and he knew she was trying to distract him.

            “I come from,” he breathed deeply, “the Wastelands of America. I thought I was from Rivet City, that I grew up there and… later joined the Brotherhood of Steel.” At her questioning look, he explained the organization briefly and continued. “I learned roughly three months ago that I was not born, but rather… manufactured, in a place called the Institute. They made machines that looked human, acted human, but could be controlled. I am one of them, a synth.”

            Curiosity lit up Serana’s eyes and she sat down next to him. Gently prodding him with questions, she got him talking until his throat was nearly dry, but his body had recovered to its previous strength. He wasn’t sure how long they sat there, but he’d shared everything he knew of his life with her, all the way up until sitting there with her and talking about it.

            It both felt like days and mere minutes, but he felt better, nonetheless.

            Serana shifted where she sat. “You’re afraid to both live up to, and surpass Skaddi as a Dragonborn,” she said, it wasn’t really a question, but he felt the need to answer.

            “Skaddi was good to me, she saved me when I would have otherwise been killed, and… I don’t even know what would have happened to Reagan for what happened.” He swallowed hard and rubbed his forehead. “And she was already pregnant with my child…”

            “Another thing you’re worried about,” Serana supplied and Danse nodded.

            “I’m not supposed to be human, how could I…?”

            “You have human DNA you said,” she pointed out, though maybe not fully understanding the words herself.    

            “Yes, and the Brotherhood would have noticed if something were strange about it,” he said to himself, rubbing his jaw. His beard had grown quite long, enough that he could braid it like Thorbjorn did. “So, even if I’m not human, I could pass on human DNA to a child, and make one that’s… perfectly healthy.”

            “Maybe more so than a natural birth,” Serana added with a raised brow. “Your woman, despite her flaws, is healthy and strong. She will make a good mother, and you a father, just as Vilkas will.”

            It was strangely comforting to hear this come from Serana. “Thank you.”

            “Now, let’s get moving,” she nodded toward the castle they’d decided was their best bet to find her mother.

            More bonemen attacked, but they were easy enough to take down, especially if Sebastian just let Serana throw spells at them. Within the day they reached the castle steps and Serana ran right past him to the top calling for her mother.

            Danse followed more slowly because of the effort the stairs took, but heard a reply come from beyond a barrier.

            “Maker… it can’t be. Serana?” a woman called as she came forward.

            “Is it really you?” his companion didn’t touch the barrier, but got as close as she dared. “I can’t believe it…. How do we get inside? We have to talk.”

            Ignoring the question, the other woman asked her own. “What are you doing here? Where’s your father?”

            “He doesn’t know we’re here. It’s a lot to explain,” Serana waved her hands as she spoke, and Danse quickly saw the resemblance when he reached the top, not only physically, but in body language, between them.

            “I must have failed. Harkon’s found a way to decipher the prophecy, hasn’t he.” It wasn’t really a question.

            “No,” Serana shook her head and crossed her arms, looking like she was hugging herself, “you’ve got it all wrong. We’re here to stop him… to make everything right.”

            The mother’s eyes narrowed on him immediately and she almost hissed, “You’ve brought a stranger here? Have you lost your mind?”

            “No –you don’t–” Serana started but the elder vampire grabbed his attention as he drew closer.

            “You. Come forward. I would speak with you,” and without really thinking, he did as he was bid. “So, how has it come to pass that a vampire hunter is in the company of my daughter? It pains me to think you’d travel with Serana under the guise of her protector in an effort to hunt me down.”

            “It is no ruse, I want to keep her safe,” he started and the woman huffed.

            “Coming from one who murders vampires as a trade, I find it hard to believe your intentions are noble. Serana has sacrificed everything to prevent Harkon from completing the prophecy. I would have expected her to explain that to you.”

            “That’s why I’m here for the Elder Scroll.”

            And just like that, she was offended. “You think I’d have the audacity to place my own daughter in that tomb for the protection of her Elder Scroll alone?” She folded her hands together in front of her. “The Scrolls are merely a means to an end. The key to the Tyranny of the Sun is Serana herself.”

            “What do you mean?” Danse couldn’t hide his confusion in his weakened state.

            The woman turned away, looking at the castle as she paced, reminding Danse briefly of her husband. “When I fled Castle Volkihar, I fled with two Elder Scrolls. The scroll I presume you found with Serana speaks of Auriel and his arcane weapon, Auriel’s Bow. The second scroll declares that ‘The Blood of Coldharbour’s Daughter will blind the eye of the Dragon.’”

            “How does Serana fit in, then?”

            “Like myself, Serana was a human once. We were devout followers of Lord Molag Bal.” Danse tried not to get distracted by the thought of Serana as a human. “Tradition dictates the females be offered to Molag Bal on his summoning day. Few survive the ordeal. Those that do emerge as pure-blooded vampires. We call such confluences the ‘Daughters of Coldharbour.’”

            “The Tyranny of the Sun requires Serana’s blood…” Danse sighed and resisted rubbing his face.

            “Now you’re beginning to see why I wanted to protect Serana, and why I’ve kept the other Elder Scroll as far from her as possible,” her tone was only slightly less condescending.

            “Harkon means to kill her?” Sebastian’s gaze flicked to his companion. She was oddly quiet, but looked as if she were struggling to hold her tongue.

            “If Harkon obtained Auriel’s Bow and Serana’s blood was used to taint the weapon, the Tyranny of the Sun would be complete. In his eyes, she’d be dying for the good of all vampires.” The woman crossed her arms, daring Danse to agree.

            “I would never allow that to happen,” he said determinedly.

            She was not impressed, “And how exactly do you plan on stopping him?”

            “I need your help,” he said as if it were obvious.

            “Have you been listening to me? Like Serana, I’m a pure-blooded vampire. My presence on Tamriel is as much of a danger as hers.”

            Danse glanced over to Serana. “And your opinion in this?”

            “You care nothing for Serana or our plight,” the mother cut in. “You’re here because we’re abominations in your mind. Evil creatures that need to be destroyed.”

            That was his breaking point. Pain filtered through him and he remembered every time he’d said or heard the word abomination used to describe a synth, to describe what he was. Every time he or his brothers and sisters would kill one and praise whatever they believed that it couldn’t hurt anyone anymore. Every time they cursed the source. Every time they made crude jokes, passing comments, or threats that linked back to what Danse learned he was.

            “You speak like you know me, but you know nothing of me,” Danse said coolly, looking at the ground. His fists were balled up and he was trying hard not to lose his temper. “I am here to stop Harkon, just as you are. This has nothing to do with hunting vampires, and the only ones I’ve ever killed attacked me first. I do not hunt your kind. I do not consider them to be any less of a life as my own. I do not take their lives without remorse for what was lost.” Danse finally looked up at her with narrowed eyes. “Serana believes in me, why won’t you?”

            “Serana?” she turned to the other vampire. “This stranger aligns himself with those that would hunt you down and slay you like an animal, yet I should entrust you to him?”

            “This ‘stranger’ has done more for me in the brief time I’ve known him than you’ve done in centuries!” the hurt in her voice must have gone right by her mother.

            “How dare you! I gave up everything I cared about to protect you from that fanatic you call a father!” her voice lowered into a growl.

            “Yes, he’s a fanatic… he’s changed. But he’s still my father. Why can’t you understand how that makes me feel?” Serana crossed her arms and Danse took a small step back.

            “Oh, Serana. If you’d only open your eyes,” the pity in her voice hurt even Danse.

            “The moment your father discovers your role in the prophecy, that he needs your blood, you’ll be in terrible danger.”

            “So to protect me, you decided to shut me away from everything I cared about? You never asked me if hiding me in that tomb was the best course of action, you just expected me to follow you blindly,” the hurt in her words made Sebastian realize she was more upset about it than she’d ever let on. “Both of you were obsessed with your own paths. Your motivations might have been different, but in the end, I’m still just a pawn to you, too.” He couldn’t be sure if her mother could see the tears at the corner of her eyes through the barrier. “I want us to be a family again. But I don’t know if we can ever have that. Maybe we don’t deserve that kind of happiness. Maybe it isn’t for us. But we have to stop him. Before he goes too far. And to do that, we need the Elder Scroll.”

            Her mother hesitated before speaking and her words surprised both Danse and Serana. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know… I didn’t see. I’ve allowed my hatred of your father to estrange us for too long. Forgive me.” They were quiet for a moment and she continued, realizing no one would say anything else. “If you want the Elder Scroll, it’s yours.” She turned to Sebastian then and looked like the words she was going to say were hard to get out. “Your intentions are still somewhat unclear to me. But for Serana’s sake, I’ll assist you in any way that I can.”

            “Do you have the Elder Scroll with you?”

            “Yes, I’ve kept it safely secured here ever since I was imprisoned. Fortunately, you’re in a position to breach the barrier that surrounds these ruins,” she crossed her arms and looked like she was calculating.

            “What do we need to do?

            “You need to locate the tallest of the rocky spires that surround these ruins. At their bases, the barrier’s energy is being drawn from unfortunate souls that have been exiled here. Destroy the Keepers that are tending them, and it should bring the barrier down,” she explained and then nodded as if to convince herself it would work.

            “We’ll return soon,” Danse started to back away.

            “One more word of warning,” she said and Danse paused, looking at her with a raised brow. “There’s a dragon that calls itself Durnehviir roaming the cairn. Be wary of him. The Ideal Masters have charged him with overseeing the Keepers, and will undoubtedly intervene if you’re perceived as a threat.” The warning didn’t sit well with him, but Danse nodded and followed Serana down the steps in the direction of what they thought was the closest spire.

            “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked and she answered before he even got all the words out.

            “No.”

 

 

            The Keepers were giants dressed in dragon bone armor, and wielding weapons of the same make. Danse took the sword and shield, battleax, and bow, weighing himself down, but he thought they would make outstanding gifts for the others when he returned to Skyrim. Serana offered assistance in not only killing the Keepers, but took the weight of his back, leaving him the strength to carry the weapons.

            Righteous Authority was very helpful against the smoky opponents. It burned through the thinner part of the armor, and the light seemed to hurt them more than Serana’s life-sapping and ice throwing spells.

            What put him on edge, though, was not having seen the dragon Valerica warned him about.

            Danse and Serana made their way back up the steps to the other vampire and she showed a reserved smile. “You managed to destroy all three Keepers? Very impressive.”

            “Thank you. Are you able to give us the scroll now?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

            “Yes. Please, follow me,” she started to walk away. “Keep watch for Durnehviir. With the prison’s barrier down, he’s almost certain to investigate.” She led the way deeper into the castle and they entered a large arena like space.

            Valerica started off, but Danse was staring at the far wall. There was something about the way that wall looked. The tower was either broken or…

            “Dragon!” Serana hissed and fired an ice spike across the space at the beast.

            The wall erupted as the dragon threw his head back and fanned its massive wings wide. Danse held up Righteous Authority and fired on the dragon. The beast let out a purple mist that arched into the sky and dove down into the ashy earth. From the piles of bones came skeletons.

            Immediately, Serana and her mother started fighting them.

            “Take the dragon!” Serana called and threw a spike into a boneman coming toward Danse. “We’ll cover you!”

            Without hesitating, he turned his attention to the dragon that threw itself into the air. His lasers hummed through the air, most of them landing along the dragon’s underbelly as he soared over, looking for a safe place to land. He was more agile than Danse was used to dealing with, and took sharp turns that caused him to miss.

            But the beast came down without being able to land a strike of his own on the Dragonborn.

            As Durnehviir fell toward the earth, his body lit up in purple fire, and Danse prepared himself to siphon his soul. But the dragon hit the ground, hard, and shattered into black smoke, disappearing.

            Valerica was the one to pull him from his confusion, speaking, “Forgive my astonishment, but I never thought I’d witness the death of that dragon.” When he didn’t say anything, she explained, “Volumes written on Durnehviir allege that he can’t be slain by normal means. It appears they were mistaken. Unless…”

            “Go on,” he turned to her.

            “The soul of a dragon is as resilient as its owner’s scaly hide. It’s possible that your killing blow has merely displaced Durnehviir’s physical form while he reconstitutes himself.” She rubbed her hands together in thought and began to pace. “It could take minutes, hours… years? I can’t even begin to guess. I suggest we don’t wait around to find out how long it will take him,” she stopped suddenly and turned to him. “Now, let’s get you the Elder Scroll and you can be on your way.”

            Danse followed Serana’s mother into an alcove that was filled with books and alchemic supplies. “You found these here?” he asked and picked up a tooth that looked to be made of ice.

            “No, that is simply all I have left of what I brought.”

            It seemed like a lot, until he realized it only filled one shelf. “I imagine the centuries spent here were quite… boring,” he gave her a sympathetic look and she rolled her shoulders.

            “I could not keep track of time. You say centuries, but it has only felt like a couple of years,” Valerica said as she opened a long box.

            “That’s it. That’s the last Scroll,” Serana breathed and picked it up. “Come on, let’s take it to Dexion.”

            “I’m right behind you,” he waved her on.

            Serana took one last look at her mother and then looked at her feet. As she walked away, Valerica addressed Danse. “Now that you’ve retrieved the Elder scroll, you should be on your way. If there’s anything I can do before you depart, you must let me know.”

            Danse cleared his throat, “Can you help get my soul back?”

            “So my daughter applied some of the lessons I taught her about necromancy, did she?” she smiled. “Don’t worry, I think I can help you.”

            “I could use all the help I can get,” he offered a smile and she nodded her understanding.

            “Your soul essence was trapped inside a gem. When you and Serana entered the Soul Cairn, it was ‘given’ to the Ideal Masters as payment. You simply need to retrieve the gem. The moment you touch it, your soul essence will be restored.”

            “I know where it is,” he felt a wave of relief over how easy this would be. “Are you staying here?” he suddenly realized she wasn’t preparing to come.

            “I have no choice. As I told you before, I’m a Daughter of Coldharbour. If I return to Tamriel, that increases Harkon’s likelihood of bringing the Tyranny of the sun to fruition.” She didn’t seem the least bit worried.

            “We’ll return for you when we can,” he promised.

            “I appreciate your concern for me, but Serana is all that I care about. You must keep her safe at all costs.” She took a deep breath. “Remember that Harkon isn’t to be trusted. No matter what he promises, he’ll deceive you in order to get what he wants.” She glanced over to where Serana stood in the distance, waiting for Danse to come. “And promise me you’ll keep my daughter safe. She’s the only thing of value I have left.”

            “I swear it,” Danse breathed and Valerica nodded once.

            “Thank you,” she turned away and went to her nook, sitting at the alchemy station.

            Serana didn’t speak when Sebastian came to her side. They walked out of the castle side by side and immediately grabbed their weapons when they saw Durnehviir perched outside.

            “Stay your weapons,” he growled, looking down at Danse. “I would speak with you, Qahnaarin.”

            “You don’t stay dead long,” Danse commented and let Righteous Authority lay slung over his arm with a leather cord, his back space taken up by the other weapons.

            “Cursed, not dead. Doomed to exist in this form for eternity. Trapped between laas and dinok, between life and death,” he rumbled and shifted his weight.

            “Were you not trying to kill me?” Sebastian asked. He would feel guilty if it had been a misunderstanding.

            “The hostility was necessary. I was bound to an oath.”

            “Why are we speaking now, then?”

            “I believe in civility among seasoned warriors, and I find your ear worthy of my words,” he started. Serana huffed.

            “You didn’t break a sweat taking him down,” she breathed so the beast couldn’t hear her.

            The dragon continued, “My claws have rended the flesh of innumerable foes, but I have never once been felled on the field of battle. I, therefore, honor-name you ‘Qahnaarin,’ or Vanquisher in your tongue.”

            Serana was about to say something, but Danse cut her off, “I found you equally worthy. Had I not my special weapon, you surely would have won.”

            “Your words do me great honor. My desire to speak with you was born from the result of our battle, Qahnaarin. I merely wish to respectfully ask a favor of you,” the dragon raised his head, looking down with a tilt.

            “What kind of favor?”

            “For countless years, I’ve roamed the Soul Cairn, in unintended service to the Ideal Masters. Before this, I roamed the skies above Tamriel. I desire to return there.” Danse wasn’t quite sure what he could do to help there.

            “What’s stopping you?” he asked and the dragon snarled.

            “I fear that my time here has taken its toll upon me. I share a bond with this dreaded place. If I venture far from the Soul Cairn, my strength would begin to wane until I was no more.”

            Face twisted in a sympathetic frowned, Sebastian asked, “How could I help, then?”

            “I will place my name with you and grant you the right to call my name from Tamriel. Do me this simple honor and I will fight at your side as your Grah-Zeymahzin, your Ally, and teach you my Thu’um.” It sounded too simple and Danse crossed his arms thoughtfully.

            “Just call your name in Tamriel? That’s all you ask of me?”

            “Trivial in your mind, perhaps. For me, it would mean a great deal.” Then dragon climbed down from his perch and looked down on Danse from right above him. He was different from the other dragons, instead of having a narrow face with horns that coiled back toward their bodies, this one’s curved forward and gave him a menacing width. “I don’t require an answer, Qahnaarin. Simply speak my name to the heavens when you feel the time is right.” The dragon shifted and let out a long breath over him. With it came knowledge. Durnehviir meant, cursed never dying. It came with it sadness and longing that ached in Danse’s heart.

            Looking for a distraction from the pain, Sebastian asked, “Why do you call me Qahnaarin?”

            If a dragon could smirk, Durnehviir did. “In my language, the Qahnaarin is the Vanquisher, the one who has bested a fellow dovah in battle.”

            Dovah, dragon. “Fellow dovah? I am not a dragon,” Danse gestured to himself vaguely. Durnehviir did appear to be missing eyes, but he was definitely not blind. His whole body looked like a dragon had been mummified and left to sit. When he moved, the leathery hide stretched to the point of nearly tearing.

            He snapped his death in what Sebastian thought was a laugh. “Even in the Soul Cairn, the defeat of the World Eater has reached my ears, Dovahkiin. You may not be dovah, but the defeat of Alduin earns you the right of title.”

            Danse felt his shoulders slump and he looked down at his feet. “I am not the same Dragonborn that defeated Alduin. My friend, Skaddi Ice-Hunter, claims that right.”

            Durnehviir wasn’t expecting that and shifted his weight, looking a bit confused. Then he nodded once. “You claim the souls of slain dragons and speak with an understanding only we possess. You are Dragonborn, even if you are not slaying of the World Eater.”

            It was nice to hear from a dragon, it felt more genuine than from others. He was accepted as one of their own, by one of them. “Thank you, Durnehviir, it means a lot.”

            “Go, Qahnaarin, return to Tamriel.”

            Serana started walking before Danse did. “I will call on you when I reach the outside.”

            “Thank you.”

 

 

            Valerica’s laboratory looked just as it had when they left, minus some supplies that Reagan, Vilkas, and the others most likely took with them. Serana stretched her arms happily. “Good to be back.”

            “Yes, now let’s get to Fort Dawnguard, I want to see my family.” He led the way out of the room and Serana trailed behind, thoughtfully commenting on how long she thought they spent in there.

            “A couple weeks, at least, the walk was so long, both in and out,” she reasoned and Danse waved at her to stop. He was tired, hadn’t slept since before they went into the Soul Cairn, and he was still missing his soul.

            “What food do we have? We never did eat…” he said as he took to her side and opened the pack she was carrying.

            “Everything we had when we left.” He opened the rations and ground at the aged bread and rotted meat. “Oh,” Serana frowned. “It looks… months old.”

            “But no insects got to it, so it didn’t decompose,” he dropped the food off onto the ground as they exited the castle. “We were gone longer than a couple of weeks…”

            Serana looked out over the snowy coast. “It’s colder…. Much, much, colder.”

            “We have to find the others.”

            Danse and Serana took an old, leaky boat to the shore and made their way to Solitude, the closest city, to charter a cart to Riften. The trip took them the whole day and into the night. When they arrived, they went into the city to buy warmer clothes and trade some of their gear.

            On the way back from Durnehviir, Danse and Serana stumbled upon a horse skull guarded by wraiths. Upon picking it up, they encountered a soul who boasted about a loyal horse, and then all but pushed the skull back into their possession when they tried to return it. He said the horse would serve Danse from then on, but when he summoned the stallion, a skeletal stead came forth, aflame with blue fire.

            They both decided not to use the horse in Skyrim while others were around.

            With the gold they got from the gear they were willing to sell, they could afford a ride all the way up to the fort itself.

            Danse asked the date and was told the 23thof Evening Star, but that meant nothing to him. Then he and Serana spent a long time talking about how long they had most likely been gone as neither of them knew the date they left. Serana had been put into her tomb sometime in late autumn, but Danse thought he and Reagan arrived in Skyrim in early spring. They’d done so much traveling between regions that shared such a wide range of weather, he couldn’t keep the seasons straight. Until now, it hadn’t been important to him.

            It took them two days to get to the Fort, and when they arrived it was quiet, a soft snowfall had covered it, and seeing the footprints from earlier that day comforted Danse. They must have all been inside.

            With the exception of some guards who stood on high tower peaks with crossbows at the read.

            Danse called out with his arms raised to say who he was, and immediately one of the guards ran away, inside. Serana frowned and crossed her arms.

            “You’d think we’d get a warmer welcome?”

            “That a snow joke?” he asked and lifted a brow at her. She snorted and they continued forward when one of the guards cleared them.

            The front doors flew open before Danse and Serana got to them and familiar faces poured out with bright lights behind them spilling into the evening darkness. At the front, was a beautiful blonde woman with silver eyes and a wide, freckled smile.

            “Sei!” she all but screamed and ran forward. She threw her arms around him and he wrapped his around her, spinning to ease her momentum.

            “Reagan,” he breathed into her soft hair. She was just like he’d left her, maybe a little cleaner, and dressed in riding pants and a blouse, but she hadn’t grown any larger. “I missed you so much,” he groaned and buried his face in her neck. She held him and rubbed his shoulders and neck with expert fingers. He hadn’t missed anything. The weather had just taken a turn. He hadn’t been gone that long.

            “I knew you’d come back,” she said and pulled back to look at him. Her face was creased with gentle lines he didn’t remember. She cupped his face in her hands and ran her fingers through his long, thick beard. “Didn’t shave at all in the Soul Cairn, huh?”

            “That bad?” he laughed.

            “You’ve been gone a while,” she shrugged and then looked over at the people coming in to speak with him and Serana.

            The way she said it worried him and he held her shoulders in sudden desperation, “How long was I gone?”

            Reagan’s smile faltered and she swallowed. “I, uh, well,” she looked again and Danse followed her gaze.

            Vilkas was waiting for his turn to come forward, but he wasn’t alone. Hidden behind his leg was Duncan, looking mixed between coming forward and saying hi, or staying put. But the Companion was holding something, small and wrapped up in a blanket. The way he cradled it told Danse _exactly_ what he was holding.

            “Our baby?” he whispered. “I… missed our baby’s birth?”

            Weight crashed down against Danse so hard his knees threatened to break. He held Reagan tighter to keep from falling and she supported him. She was speaking, but he couldn’t hear her. His ears were pounding with his heartbeat and backed by ringing from nowhere. He took a rickety step toward his baby and Vilkas came closer so he didn’t have to move as much.

            The bundle was so small, so very, very small, he couldn’t believe a human life was wrapped up in it. Vilkas tucked part of the blanket aside so that Danse could see his baby’s face.

            Dark brown hair swooped across the baby’s forehead. The soft skin tinted pink from the cold was unmistakably his olive complexion. And the little eyes opened to show dark, fathomless irises that melted his heart.

            “Her name is Valkyrie Faye Danse,” Vilkas whispered. Danse’s breath left him.

            “I’m a father,” he choked and watched as his daughter tossed and turned in the cold. Tears welled up in her eyes and she started to cry. Immediately, Reagan came closer and Vilkas held her closer to Danse so that their bodies acted as a barrier for the cold. “I’m a father,” he said again softly and rested his hand on the top of his daughter’s head.


End file.
